Lindsey's Tigers

23 Weeks.

2012-01-29T15:34:00.000-06:00

I miss blogging. I do think that blogging started and sustained me through a very hungry place in life. Many things have changed and I feel less drawn to this angst-ridden place, but I think writing down things can and will continue without that gritty purpose.

Maybe a new purpose, this little gentle Tiger growing in my belly, is reason enough to chronicle.

Perhaps, well, no, certainly, I will greet that gritty angst-y hungry place of motherhood soon enough, and will need the outlet. So as with all other preparations for this world-changing ball of uncertainty kicking me from the insides, I dust off the blog and commit to writing again.

Oh yes, and we got a new camera. So there's that.

Here we go. First set of thoughts.

To medicate or not to medicate? Or, the first test of how to be a 'good mom' according to 'them'.

If you use medical interventions or pain relief during the birth of your child, there is a school of passionate-well meaning granola-bars (Dr. Granola Bars, actually) out-there that write books and blog blogs about how this disrupts the delicate instincts of mothers. The beautiful and perfect balance of hormones and juices and happiness and instincts that have kept our species alive and bonding for as long as humans have walked on two legs. People who claim we are doing great harm in medicating and intervening in the process of birth, making the most normal and low-risk occurance a medical emergency more often than it needs to be.

There are then a school of mothers that want to punch those people in the face as they grab for the epidural button.

And doctors who listen supportively to your desires to have a natural birth and then roll their eyes and go order the epidural that they know you will cave-in and ask for.

I wish I had enough faith and trust in my body to be completely in the Granola camp. I do not mean that to be an offensive term. I merely mean it as a description of the holistic care movement in general, of which I am not against in the least. I want to do the best for my kid. Right out of the gate. And everything they preach sounds amazing and right and good and YES, of COURSE I wanna do that. Doesn't make me want to paint my unborn child's placenta, that's a little off the path for me..but whatever....I'm MADE for this childbirth thing. My mom did this (and to an 11 lb. 7oz baby no less). I will do this! Maybe not even in a hospital. Maybe in a forest. Or a waterfall somewhere.

On the other hand, I also hate pain. Right now I have a dry nostril that is giving me fits. My mom said she would have taken the drugs had they been available. Other moms have said the same to me. One MIDWIFE is on tape begging for an epidural at her OWN HOME BIRTH. Doesn't inspire much confidence in my 'beautifully attuned system'. Yet others have said their natural births "weren't that bad" or "the baby just slipped out".

They say if you go into a natural birth unprepared in a hospital setting, you will at somepoint ask for an intervention. They say if you go in with a "we'll try it, why not?" attitude, you will fail.

The other camp says if you go in and dont' go through with the natural birth, you shouldn't feel as if you failed.

One camp says "visualize" your birth positively.

The mothers who have had babies say "yeah...do that until 7cm...then get the drugs"

I'm certainly not discounting the births where medical interventions are most certainly necessary. But it's become more and more unclear to me what 'certainly necessary' even means. I think most, including the modern medical community are in the camp that inductions are undesirable. Luke and I agree on this. But epidurals? One teeny-weeny one can't hurt can it? I do find it odd that the same doctors who tell us not to even take cold medicine during pregnancy are suddenly ok with narcotics during labor.

It feels like a hot mess. Like, once again, we are trying to control and put something into a neat little box, that by nature was never meant to be so controlled. Giving birth to a human being was really never designed to be something for our convenience or comfort. Blessing? Absolutely. Fun? I'm just not so sure.

Right now I'm living in a mental cycle that goes like this...

"YES, I will do it naturally, and I'm stark raving TERRIFIED about it. Well, I shouldn't spend the next 17 weeks in terror. No... just relax, plan to get the drugs, everyone else does it, and then I feel ashamed that I am agreeing to jack with my hormones and with my baby....maybe I should try it naturally..."

Seems like a healhy place to be right? Maybe this is why I am having dreams where I shoot people.

My way-more-stable husband had a good mantra that is sustaining me for now "Healthy Mom, Healthy Baby" even though I dont really know what that means. It suggests that the end is more important than the means and that we will get through it somehow.

I welcome advice and thoughts and your personal views on this delicate subject.

Since being Pregnant...

2011-12-20T15:02:00.002-06:00

List of Weird Dreams.

More on the general state of Pregnancy later.

1. Dreamt that I had the baby early on two separate occasions. One was a girl with no nose, and one was a boy with full goatee.

2. Dreamt that I have shot two people now. The son of the man who operates our local deli, and a random stranger who was in my high school.

3. Dreamt that I have been slated to play college basketball again, for some magical fifth year, and was woe-fully ill prepared, no shoes, no jersey, wrong jersey, not a single day of practice under my belt, etc. (Have had this dream about 4 times now, including once where my ‘boyfriend’ Gary Coleman was in the stands, and once where immediately after, I was scheduled to perform as the lead in a production of Les Miserables)

4. Dreamt that I had a liturgical Role in Leigh Abernathy Cannons “wedding” which was like no event Leigh would EVER plan, and certainly not the man she married. Included the most Hitchcock-like release of VULTURES instead of doves at the end. I knew none of my lines, and the wedding was absolutely hideous and covered in heavy dusty velvet tapestries with gold tassels and such.

5. Dreamt I killed some close family members Dexter-Style (they shall remain nameless because I am not entirely sure which ones they were). With no regret except that Luke and I hid the bodies in a bad place. The closet of a lake house that was for sale and being shown regularly by realtors. “We need to have a talk” I told him when I woke up.

6. Dreamt I had my vehicle taken over by Dave Geiser and his three kids (Dave only has two) and they boarded my Equinox from a moving vehicle on the highway while wearing black hooded cloaks. Then, after dropping them off at their destination, I left my car and returned to find the ENTIRE Iowa State Men’s basketball team and three cheerleaders sleeping in my car, and they trashed it.

7. Dreamt my house burned down. This was the most horrible yet.

Long Time

2011-10-06T18:52:00.000-05:00

Has been awhile.   Lots goin on.

Went to Charleston SC on our honeymoon.   We ate our way through the city, happily. She-crab soup and salads with bacon-jam on them. (!) Grand Marnier souffles and fried green tomatoes. Sweet potato pancakes and lovely local greasy spoons. And grits. Oh man, did we eat.

Back to a reality that is new and fun. Resting. Building a life together. Nesting. Breathing. Laughing.

Not really cleaning so much. But we'll get there. I hope.

Road trips to see new family and friends are never dull.

In our apartment. We rent a parking space from our downstairs neighbor, Jeffrey. He has lived there for 1000 years and makes soup and freezes it. He has two little white dogs he calls his "boys" and they often chew our welcome mats and sleep against our front and back apartment doors.   It's sweet and weird. Luke put some cayenne pepper on the back one, I think it only served as bait.

Luke looks cute in scrubs.

I have put on all my weight again, I look cute in nothing but circus tents. But he loves me still.

If life goes in cycles, we are certainly in a new one. One where new friends are now very old and deep friends. Where I have just completed my 10 year anniversary at my company. They have also become very old and deep friends.

Friends babies are now almost driving.   My hair has a few grays, my hands more stiffness, my knees creak and groan. The volleyball court gets more social and less competitive simply because we cannot keep up with the springy young gazelles anymore.   I think striving ceased a little. It's nice.

Fall in St.Louis is as beautiful as ever and church is starting to feel like home again.

The Lord is ever present, ever faithful, and ever deafeningly silent, like He does.

AND. That blessed day approaches when we get to have a whole extra hour! My heart dances and sings.

I am thankful.

So how do you like that?

2011-06-13T23:48:00.000-05:00

Whew. I'm married. It happened. I'm happy.

Update

2011-03-14T00:22:00.003-05:00

I answered a question about five months ago.

Little did I know that that little question was just the beginning of a million other questions that would also need answers.

From what color should this be, to how will I ever be a good wife or mother? How do you leave your parents and cleave to another person when all they have been is great to you? Where do you get flowers? How do you say yes to a dress? Where are you going to live? How do you still have friends after you plan a wedding? How do you meet a thousand new people, new family, change churches, get a new small group, move, say goodbye to living with your brother (s), help your beloved get through nursing school and keep your job and your mind? Oh and blog?

I said "of course" to Luke Stigers on November 20th. They day after I returned from Belgium.

Yesterday, we received our first wedding gift. A beautiful banner with the words "Come to Me" and "You will find Rest for your Souls" hand-made in a gorgeous fabric mosaic assembled in a beautiful one-of-a-kind design. This rendered me speechless. Tear-less even. To avoid complete ugly-cry meltdown, I had to kinda pretend it didn't slice me to the quick and stitch me up at the same time. It was so right-on for us. For both of us. We have both had restless roads up until this point. And the Savior who offers us Rest is always a source of overwhelming joy to me. Tastes of it occur daily from my dear mom helping me fold thousands of clothes, to my dad figuring out the southwest rapid rewards system for OUR honeymoon tickets on HIS birthday. To new mother-in-law who slaves in a kitchen for days to allow her community to come and love on me, someone they have never even met. To the amazing Liz who designed the most gorgeous wedding invitations I've ever seen for free in her "free time" between about 10:30 pm and 1am after she started her new job.

Is there any end to the blessings? Sometimes it seems not fair at all. Surreal, is what Luke said today. It is completely crazy. Maybe this time is a well-ordained equipment for harder days to come, when the flowers are dead, and you are once again too fat to fit into that dress, and your children start to ask the same questions you have and you are only semi-sure of the answers. Weddings are weird things. Rites of passage, that those who elope miss out on. The dynamics, the decisions, the binding of two people together, not just at their point of contact, but at their roots and beyond as well. Liz and many others may feel more invested into my future marriage now that she has worried with me over some details of it. As I did for hers. The success of her marriage is personal to me because I tore strips of fabric for her.

As an aside, the emerging theme of fabric continues to strike me, as it has in other weddings. For hers, we tied strips of cloth on clothesline to compliment the beautiful backdrop of fall, we used burlap and lace and other tactile things to seal that day. For mine, there is the banner, assembled into Gods Word over us, and a hand-made quilt from a grandmother. Fabrics. Pieced together at a pace that is easy. A pace that conversation happens over. That love grows over.

When you outsource this stuff, when you just write a check for it, somehow those dear to us miss out. On a chance to sew, to tie, and to bind us together. To provide preemptive support for the days to come described by the wise as "better than you could imagine and worse than you can imagine".

As a long-time singleton it's difficult for me to not consistently apologize for this time. To apologize for feeling stressed when others would welcome these million decisions. To apologize for being giddy and talking about it ad nauseum to those who are well past this time in their lives and into the nitty gritty times who would also much rather be picking out table napkins and song lists. To apologize for the biblical-ness of marriage and walk that line of celebrating this wonderful, sharpening and good and beneficial path in life and also acknowledging the sting of singleness and the ones dear to me who struggle with ceremonies that point out "incompleteness" or where it speaks of "not being good for man to be alone".

I am thrilled to be taking this next step. With all the unknowns, the joys the sorrows, the reality of living with another person, another sinner and their process, forEVER. I struggle not to spreadsheet it for fear I will back out after the risk assessment. It will require everything. You will live for another all the time. You will sacrifice yourself, and it will be the best thing you ever do.

If you are a praying sort, please pray for Rest for our Souls. For rest enough to somehow find the energy to enjoy this time, and to keep food on the table while trying to plan and be present for a milestone event. While trying to maintain graciousness to all who will be a part of it, to enjoy it fully while being sensitive to those who long for this day to come to them as well, and the freedom to celebrate lavishly while there are so many in need and destruction.

May this celebration unite us together so we may fight darkness as more compassionate, more healed, more whole, more loving people.

Who blog more.

Rochefort and Dinant.

2010-11-09T17:55:00.000-06:00

Grace at this adorable little restaurant that gives you blankets to sit outside next to the fire.

Going down into the Cave at Rochefort

The trees on the drive to work. The one day we saw them in daylight.

The entertainment after work.

Ghent

2010-10-31T16:18:00.001-05:00

When I mention Ghent, two people have quoted to me now: "Tell me you went to Bruges first. You don't want to miss that gem."

What movie is this from? I feel out of it for not knowing the quote. Is it from the 2008 Colin Farrel flick "In Bruges"? I'm at a loss.

Regardless, Ghent was a Gem indeed. There aren't words for how the clear slanty autumn rays bathed this city in light. Maybe some pics will suffice. I wish I was Courtney or Jodie or Elisa at this juncture.

This is Grace, roomate extraordinaire!

George, Lindsey and Grace.

The symbols of Ghent.

Grace Choi shown for Scale. This was a two-handed sword. Obviuosly.

George drinking Mussel juice. Grace pretending to drink Mussel juice for purposes of the photo. To me, the smarter option of the two. ;)

Bikes literally as far as the eye could see. I think this is where bikes are grown.

Chasing Light.

2010-10-25T15:36:00.000-05:00

To quote the Dassler, "Glory be to God for Dappled things."

Belgian iPhone Nights.

2010-10-23T16:19:00.001-05:00

The iPhone camera has this cool button that switches the camera from the back of the phone to the face of the phone Thus, I can capture my face looking like this....when I look at things like this:

Ew. As if regular ones weren't weird enough. These are orange. And I dont know why.
Yes, lets keep them on the "DL".

More Grocery Store Prophecy. I give you Cheesus of Nazareth.

Mia also knows exactly how to take a picture of herself as she looks at the phone. In rapid succession. I had about 50 of her thumb.

And of her folks.

And of Gordon. Who made us dinner. Lamb Shanks stuffed with Goat Cheese and Olives, slathered in Spicy Dijon mustard and rolled in bread crumbs. Parmesean Risotto, veggies, and vanilla ice cream with fresh Strawberries. Love this guy. (PS I stuffed the lamb LOOK OUT!).

Mia also loves taking and watching video of herself. We watched this video about 20 times. And she would laugh every time.

Belgium Sneek Peek.

2010-10-23T06:06:00.000-05:00

Don't be fooled, this is actually a HUGE smile. (I had just given her one of my rings to play with!)

There are indeed waffles under there.

Amelia loves to "Cheers". She learned it on the Amstel tour.

The Flat.

Dont be fooled. I had just given George one of my rings to play with.

October

2010-10-10T15:27:00.001-05:00

Summer-y.

2010-09-30T16:45:00.001-05:00

Liz got a ring.

She also had a blue and orange shower.

Julee and Nell got new outfits on Labor Day.

Indiana Eye Candy. Thanks, Earth.

St. Louis had some good days in June.

The Cards had 14 runs. Too little, too late.

Had some good dates in June as well.

That's right, Fade, Ditto, Ditto, Fade. I got a great scrabble partner.

Luke got some goat.

Awwwwww CREEP OUT!

2010-07-14T18:53:00.003-05:00

Uh. SO the following pieces of "art" are hanging at my present employment location. They say the definition of "art" is anything that elicits an emotion. Thus, I think this does qualify as "art". I am sufficiently creeped out. All the time. Some of these are in the kitchen areas...and I didn't even come close to capturing everything that deserved capturing. Tell me I'm not crazy to think these are odd at best?

Nothing like a "pig-rooster-fish". In the kitchen.

"Laser Dog"

The family that doesn't know what to do with it's hands.

Ok this is not super creepy, since I found out it was for an ad campaign back in the day.

This smacks of severed body parts.

This wasn't creepy since I actually was in Switzerland and they do have a profound number of hard-boiled eggs, but otherwise, I would have found this odd.

Hey. This is how people used to "measure" stuff back in the day. Let's hang it up!

Dear Diary

2010-07-12T17:44:00.000-05:00

Last night I arrived at the Hampton making excellent time from Chicago. Except that the rental car clock was wrong. It was not that excellent after all, but I didn't know that until morning. I got to my room more than half an hour after I parked the car and thought WOW that check in was long. However, that was no stretch because check in WAS long. They didn't have my reservation but that gave me time to boot up my computer, which gave me time to capture this funny sign. The Hampton has a "guest of the day".

Today it was NOT Barbra Boget. Hmm. Shame on her. Wonder what she did.... asked for too many towels...rented by the hour? Oppressed Mark Phillippe? I do not know how one becomes Guest of the Day or what one gets for being said Guest of the Day. I know there is a special parking place, but beyond that I am unclear.

I proceeded to arrive at work ("early?, no LATE, no no phone is right ON TIME, whew, OK") was immediately whisked up to the area above the production room ceiling. A literal stainless steel forest of pipes, hangers, duct and cables. "Don't step here, but don't worry if you do, the safety nets will catch you. We have never tested it, but it's prolly good."
I was literally on my stomach at 8:30 this morning clinging to a steel beam.

Later I ate at Jimmy John's. I didn't know that they were quite SO fast... I mean I had literally just handed over my visa and my number 16 sub was thrust back into my hand with my receipt. I was further impressed when two delivery boys came sprinting out of their cars into the shop for more orders. And I was a bit less impressed when not one, but BOTH of them completely independently "forgot" something, had to go sprinting back in for something else, and BOTH of them came back out and tripped over themselves. One guy got completely tangled up in his own empty delivery box as he was maneuvering it out the door. Maybe Jimmy John's business plan is just inefficient. But I'm absolutely sure I could work there. They didn't call me Mach 10 for nothing.

Several of random conversations with strangers.
"You must play volleyball." "Yes, I do, and Basketball." (security guard at airport)
"You must play volleyball." "Yes, I do, and Basketball." (co-worker lady in the bathroom)
"You must be wicked smart." "Yes, I am." (enterprise guy)
"Must not be too smart, because you could be saving money on one of our corporate deals...." (enterprise guy)

Tips Toward More Picturesque Speech and Phase 2.

2010-06-17T08:33:00.000-05:00

My brother in Mexico:

"Yeah my buddy is badly sunburned. I mean, his back looks like Joe Pesci's hand after he grabbed the doorknob in Home Alone".

Phase 2 of the healing process is underway. I want to thank everyone who has been so great and so patient with me as I continue the process. I am sure I have thirteen Father's Day posts brewing for my Dad's care alone and that wouldn't be enough.

Phase 2 means I have downgraded from "wolverine with slege" to only an "occassional freak out/sock monkey attack". It means I sold my house. One set of giant responsibilities gone. Downsized a little. Unshackled a lot. It was absolutely not emotional for me to leave the house at all. I really thought it would be a little bit more. I had more attachment to the DMV I think, because of the monumental good times that were had there and the memories that place held (Anyone remember the night of the burning cork? Almost cost me my security deposit, thanks Mark and JD). Moreso, I think it was unemotional because I truly believe God wanted me to sell the house. (Insert disclaimer about not wanting to sound crazy here. I am always leery* of people who use that phrase a lot. How do you KNOW he told you ANYTHING). Well. I think the gut has a lot to do with it. And I think complete detachment and looking up at the sky and saying "Well, whatever. What. Ever. You. Want. I'll do it. I'll do anything. Just please tell me, because you know best, you know the past the present and the future, you made me, and you can see around the corners that I cannot and I completely trust You."

The series of circumstances around the sale of the house in this Market worked out almost flawlessly. I didn't lose my shirt. Maybe only some earmuffs. A few hiccups here and there that threatened the deal (and here I am not even closed yet, maybe I speak to soon). Moving happened (or is still happening), with only a few minor tragedies. Me falling down the basement stairs as one, and the boxspring mattresses not fitting up the stairs being another. (It must be noted publicly, and I choose this venue: Luke, you were wrong about King sized matress box springs belonging to people with only King-sized houses. They come as two twins. BAM).

The transition into Phase 2 was aided by some new scenery. I was in Michigan for work recently and I didn't have the luxury of sulking. New people, new situations, new harassment kept me on my toes and forced me to drop the "woe is me" and pick up my big stick.

There are signs of life. Lightness, even. The key will be to maintain a fair distance from things that make me question myself, delete the accusatory words that are bunk, and cling to Jesus, who has answered all my questions, tended my wounds, secured my future, hasn't prevented pain or trouble, and loves me enough to die for me. (I cant deal with it...can you?)

Not out of any woods. Still in the place where infection can set into the stitched up wound. But I hope soon it will become a light scar attached to a story about the goodness of God. Come quickly Phase 3.

* It has come to my attention that I use the word "leery" incorrectly". I think it's correct in this context.

Just Wow. Thanks Tosh.0

2010-06-12T21:57:00.000-05:00

Random Text Messages:

2010-05-17T22:55:00.000-05:00

To me. From an unknown number at 6:15 am.

"U better man up. Wants good. Sexy. Sheryl"

Me: "???" {Who the frack is this? And what the heck are they saying? Who do I know named "Sheryl"?}

"Do you know what i'm talking about? Sexy.Sheryl"

Me: "Who is this?"

"Sheryl. Sexy. Sheryl." {Ok. Must be her signature...Thanks Sheryl. I thought you were calling ME "Sexy Dot'.}

Me: "Do I know you?"

"Wow. Bus 766? Sexy.Sheryl" {Ok. Now i'm 100% Sure this is no Sheryl of mine}

Me: "I think you have the wrong number."

Just a Reactionary

2010-05-13T00:44:00.001-05:00

I promised deep, overly personal writing and here it is.

Hi.

I have been walking thru a weird but, I think, good tunnel with God. Post-break-up, I have been trying to keep busy. Keep my head up. Keep the TV watching and crying to a minimum by watching TV with people and crying only in the bathtub at night. I have been engaging in the typical extreme behaviour reactions that characterize my very life. This includes pledging nunnery and joining eharmony. Immersing myself in social events and sleeping until 2:30pm on beautiful Saturdays. Beating myself up and numbing myself. Swinging between the two attempts at control that Jan Meyers called me out on in her book, The Allure of Hope, which, I think along with The Ragamuffin Gospel, must be close to canonized into holy scriptures by now. Jan is buddies with the Wild at Heart crew. And I have to admit, have always had a wildly divided heart toward those books. I think I know why.

The trecherous prescription is waiting and hoping. Despite the past and the bleakness of the earthly future.

That doesn't seem sufficient enough for me and certainly feels like someone let a rabid wolverine with a sledgehammer loose in my ribcage. He's trying to play me like a xylophone from the inside, and God seems to say: "Feel this. It's good. It's how I made you. To feel appropriate emotions."

I say: "Ugh."

So I know I'm not the only person with dissappointments. So that is why I blog. Maybe I am not the only person who needed to hear this. My pendulum freakishly swings. I do stuff extremely. I always have. A person finding themselves in my shoes has what Jan calls three options, or what I have been calling "three doors."

Door number one: I'm going to kick sorrow's ass if it kills me. Or you. Or I'm gonna beat myself senseless so God doesn't feel the need to arrange my life to punish me this way. That means clean up. It means CLAMOUR. Re-double ministry efforts, service projects, find out what needs to be fixed, focus on self-improvement. Surely all these things will get you what you want. Invite people places. Be less weird. Your pain must have a reason. You are flawed. Change you.

The second door is also extreme. Accept despair. Lower expectations. Avoid being dissappointed. You don't deserve anything better anyway. Shut your heart down. Drug the wolverine. Take away his sledge. You want TOO MUCH. Change your want.

Or. The sucky awesome option of door number three. The only real one anyway. The other two hopefully are short-lived dissatisfying fixes. (Sadly I think they can easily become hotel rooms we check into and never check out of). Door number three is to feel the reality of the pain, but not to doubt the goodness of God who allowed it. And keep hope alive while walking in the tension that your desires may not be granted in this life. I am just talking about my chronic single-ness and lack of direction in life here. Some people have much worse lots to apply this thinking to and I. CAN. NOT. IMAGINE. some of them. We were all made for more than this. But we are ALL loved and seen, just as we are, right now. You are loved AND you don't desire enough.

I read this paragraph about sixteen times the other night.

"I see you. Your loveliness is intoxicating Your heart is full and substantial, and I am drawn to know you. I see your confusion, stubbornness, and darkness, and I will not back away. You are not too much for Me. You are deeply enjoyable, and you are safe here. There's so much more of you I want to know; I can't wait to know all of you. And you can never know all of Me. I can't wait to shelter you and release you to flourish."

I read it a bunch because it's really hard to believe when you are not thrilled with your current circumstances. I read it and acknowledged that I do believe it, yet I still groan for fulfillment. I acknowledged that this part of the deal just bites (and snarles and plays chopsticks on my ribs).

My mama helped immensly today by telling me something that I wasn't even aware that I needed to hear from her. She was telling me that she wasn't dissappointed in me. I am not sure how long I have wanted to hear those words but I so did need to hear them today.

Its ok if I never get married or have babies or if no one ever "gets" me. I will always want that. But it's ok if I do not get it. It's ok to be sad about it. But I will not check out of life or into a clinic for depressed spinsters, or onto a singles cruise (not more than once anyway). And I will not be angry with God. Much. I will confess my Anger, my Envy and let them go. Daily.

Jesus is great about tending wounds, by the way. Just incase you are in need of wolverine wound care. So if you see me and happen to find me lingering near doors one or two. Remind me that 3 is the magic number.

Sucky number 3.

Is It Just Me?

2010-05-12T11:19:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else think that the tag line "Eat your way to the Stadium" in the commercial for Cardinals tickets/McDonald's promotion is disturbing and disgusting?

Broken Heart Hook Hand

2010-05-03T21:22:00.010-05:00

My blog was under construction. Once again my heart is under reconstruction as well. I pray your patience while I deal with my busted self a bit. I tend to process things in writing. Deep, overly personal, public writing. Here we go.

First of all, I have amazing friends. Friends who, I was prepared to move across the country from.  Friends who, when I broke up with the reason to move, came over with orchids, pie and good jokes. I also was invited to hang out again and again and that totally rocked. Thanks guys.

Speaking of good friends, I must go back and relay a story. A few months ago, Liz invited me over to what could have EASILY been a "couples only" dinner. I could have easily said no, but I am glad I didn't.   I arrive and I meet her new beau, we'll call him "J". I had met him once before, but in a big group of people. Tonight it was just the three of us for a bit and I was glad for a chance to get to know him better. He and Liz and puttering around the kitchen making the fixin's for a delicious mexican meal and our conversation went something like this:
J: [Casually, with his back to me, making guacamole] "So Lindsey, last time we talked you mentioned you were an engineer, maybe moving to Portland... and you had a hook-hand?
Me: [Slightly suprised... Wow. What a nice guy...he remembered ALL that stuff about me after meeting me just once and then I MUST have told that dumb story about me breaking my hand in college when I had that weird blue-cast that was shaped like a claw...oh, and he just called it a "hook".. whatever...close enough...whatever he's probably slightly nervous and mixing up that OTHER story i probalby told about the time i stuck a crochet hook in my ear...wouldn't be right to correct him at this point..don't want to embarass him..so I say dramatically with hand slapping the counter] "I DID have a hook hand! Wow, good recall!"

J and Liz: [Uncontrollable Laughter.]

L: [That IS funny, I know. Maybe not THAT funny, but maybe they are both nervous. Who cares it's fun to over-laugh. I'm in.] "Blabbity Blah blah college. Blah basketball. Yeah taking a bath with my arm hanging outside of the tub. Hah!"

J and Liz: [More Uncontrollable Laughter] "Blah bla yes, more things about that blah blah HAHAHAHA"

Me: [This is fun, I am ON. Everything I say is GOLD. I like this boy of Liz's!] "Yeah it looked like Gonzo from the Muppets"

J and Liz: [Still Laughing exchanging lengthy glances...]

J: "Lindsey I have to tell you ...I was very excited and nervous to see you tonight. When Liz and I went on our first date, we went to the Drunken Fish. And it was interesting that they had a website for people going on their first date that we happen to see. One of the points that they suggested for an ice-breaker is to just look at your new date and say: 'You know I think I've met you before, only last time you had a 'HOOK HAND' ..."

J and Liz: [Uncontrollable Laughter].

J: "So Liz and I thought it would be great to try that line out on one of her unsuspecting friends. And we picked you. And we are so glad we did. We definitely made the right choice."

Me: [Light bulb coming on...I've been punk'd] "Oh. Hook hand. Heh. Yeah, I uh...had convinced myself I had told you that story before."

J: "Of all the responses I could have possibly gotten, that was NOT what I was expecting."

J and Liz: [Uncontrollable Laughter].

Me: [DORK! Lindsey! DORK! Not anywhere NEAR COOL! Doh!]

Now J just refers to me in general as "Ole Hook Hand".
You will forever have my allegiance, mister J. For that, and since you take really good care of Liz.

New Look

2010-05-02T02:43:00.000-05:00

Thanks for your patience whilst I was re-constructing.

More posts from me a-comin. In a nutshell. I am no longer moving away. I am staying here for the forsee-able future.

I am also not slated to travel in the near future. Hooray.

Summer in St. Louis for me!

Lets hang out. I'll be tracking you down. Do not worry. No one shall be safe.
No cool person will go uncontacted. NO event invitation shall be denied.

I need peeps.

To Own a Jabberwocky

2010-04-26T00:40:00.001-05:00

I think WFDHAM's reign is over. I need to write more and I needed a new blog, a new start and I'm trying on Alice for size. She's got smashing curly hair, doesn't really know who she is (at the BEGINNING anyway). And prompts quotes from the Queen like "Use the curtains if you have to.. .please clothe this enormous girl". I feel you Alice. I also know the joy of eating one thing that makes you expand and other things that make you contract.

I unfortunatly gave up making fun of myself long ago. So I have to take that height joke back. But since it's celebratory in nature and Alice does indeed slay the Jabberwocky even though she didn't know she could...I will adopt all parallels to this strange and beautiful story.

I also have adopted a new template. Called "Lefty Stretch" which also smacked of 'me-ness'. Left handed and stretchy.

So the expanded quote that frames the new blog title is this deliciously weird quote that also makes me think of my golf game. (Even though I knows it's really croquet).

"The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo: she succeeded in getting its body tucked away, comfortably enough, under her arm, with its legs hanging down, but generally, just as she had got its neck nicely straightened out, and was going to give the hedgehog a blow with its head, it would twist itself round and look up in her face, with such a puzzled expression that she could not help bursting out laughing: and when she had got its head down, and was going to begin again, it was very provoking to find that the hedgehog had unrolled itself, and was in the act of crawling away: besides all this, there was generally a ridge or furrow in the way wherever she wanted to send the hedgehog to, and, as the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed."

Blast from the Past.

2010-04-08T17:17:00.000-05:00

There we go... a little bit of Love for WU.

Some TV Love.
And some more.

Relax. I know I'm a has been. Perhaps a "never was". Not really even a major factor in any of this stuff when it was happening. It's just fun for me to talk about and fun to see my fellow alumni in the media. The historic TV footage of me often included me commiting turnovers that made highlight reels of opposing teams :).

This is Neil.

2010-03-28T23:00:00.004-05:00

I am behind in blogging. I have two funny stories to relay. They are a bit out of date, but still worth sharing.

One I alluded to on Facebook recently. My grandpa, Grandpa Neil.

Is. A. Character.

This is the grandpa who was the former Prison Guard, Pump-Guy, Miner, Driller, Dump Truck Excavator, fisher, dancer and joke teller extraordinaire. He once got hit by a train in his Dump Truck and kicked the windsheild out to rolled to freedom. (Even though he knew the diesel fuel wasn't going to explode). That was a weird day coming home from school. "Lindsey, your Grandpa has been hit by a train, but he's ok." He's had his share of ups and downs in life and when he's down he's DOWN, but when he's up...

When he's up he calls my cell phone for a phone conversation for maybe the first time in my entire life. Calls to talk to me. Just me. He's like 72 or something. I didn't recognize the number and I was at work, so I answer "This is Lindsey."

"Well, This is Neil." (He's funny . He has good delivery. It's where I get it.)

The highlights of our awesome conversation:

1. He mentioned that he had just used the gift card that I gave him and my grandmother for Christmas. I took special care to make sure the restaurant was indeed in Brownsville, TX where they spend the winter. He thanked me sweetly but got to other business.

2. He informed me that he had a question for me. Me? He continued "Tell me why, when you go to Wal-Marts, and you buy Anti-Freeze with a 50% Anti-Freeze, 50% Water mixture, it's got a lower freeze rating than a 100% solution of Anti-Freeze? There is a buddy of mine, a mechanic I know down here who works on diesel engines. He says it's true, and if he says it's true, I believe him. I told him, I said 'I have no idea why that would be the case...but I know someone who does'."

I reply. "Oh, at first glance, that does sound a bit backwards. What were the temperatures ratings we are talking about?"

"Oh the 50/50 is like -34 Fahrenheit, and the 100% was some other number, but it was in that other thing "C"... "I don't know what that stands for... "

"Celcius."

"No... Centimeters"

"I think it's Celsius."

"Yeah. Celcius. Something warmer in Celsius."

So? My hypothesis was that the pure mix must have a higher viscosity, (it's thicker) and therefore will lock up a radiator sooner. The water thins it out enough to work at lower temps. He seemed more than satisfied with that answer and beamed that his techincal savvy, much like his dancing ability, had indeed been passed down, even though it skipped my dad. (Dad's words not mine).

3. Then he asked if I was 'leaving' him. I told him that was a funny question to ask as he calls me from almost Mexico. He had heard about my pending relocation to Oregon. He's excited about Oregon. He loves to fish.

4. He told me to tell my boyfriend John that he should go down to Texas for spring break before I move out there. I'm not sure exactly what he meant by that. I convinced myself to not be creeped out and I laughed. He and my grandmother were a little bit overwhelmed by the college spring break crowd. Grandpa Neil is excited about John because John sells air-compressors and pumps and stuff for a company that Grandpa used to work for way back in the day.

5. Then Grandpa asked me about my brothers love life. This just got movie quality epic. How's what, Grandpa? You'll have to ask him.

Yeah Bears

2010-03-14T19:48:00.004-05:00

It's that time again.

The Wash U bears are in the Final Four AGAIN.

They hosted sectionals this year so the alumni gang was in full effect, and feeling OLDER than ever.

A couple of sweet little fans we had back when I played were fifth graders at the time. They have now graduated from college and are older than the team that is currently playing.

Yarp.

In any case, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Another Bear team...a new all-time rebound leader. The old iconic rebound leader, Alia Fisher Keys, was sitting in the stands with her TWO kids...

And there are girls who I never played with, who have now graduated and are old enough that THEY haven't played with anyone on the current team either. But we all sit together in the stands and are idiots together. Members of the same sorority for life. 12+ generations deep.

Yeah I cried when they cut the nets down. Again.

Good luck next weekend, Bears. Bring home another one.

Just because I'm about to slip into anonymity...

2010-03-09T18:56:00.002-06:00

I have watched this developing news with a curiousity. Will they mention us?

They haven't. It's like it doesn't exist. It's not even an asterisk.

The current University of Connecticut womens basketball team has now won 71 games in a row.

They are media darlings and, of course, division I atheletes. But seriously... "making history"?

That's a bit much. Considering...

My team won 81.

In a row.

That's all I'm sayin'. And the "record" before that... in all of womens basketball was 61. I think that was a Div. 2 team maybe..

I'll grow up and let it go. It hardly matters in day to day life now. Much like my embarassing spelling bee loss in seventh grade. Or the amazing time I met an old man in the airport named "Merrill Lindsey". But at least acknowledge the current record holder for at least 10 more games until it's not ours anymore.

Records are made to be broken. I hope they do break it. It's great for the game. I hope they surpass John Wooden's men's record of 88 games in a row.

But for ten more games...

Check out the asterisk.

Milestone

2010-03-03T14:23:00.003-06:00

Last whenever...I think it was Octoberish. I decided I was gonna lose some weight. Encrouaged by a Ms. Peggy Hope who I heard speak about this, I resigned to count calories and exercise more. And to let myself fail as many times as I needed.

I am thrilled to report that as of yesterday I weighed in under 180 pounds for the first time since maybe before high school. (I'm 6'2" this is ok...)

To be specific, I was 179 right when I got back from working out last night, and after I took a bath, I was 178 when I got out of the tub. To which my brother replied "Did you poop in the tub?"

No. I didn't.

Yay. These are good numbers for me and I'm excited. Wanted to tell the world that I have now lost 23 pounds and four dress sizes.

(You probably haven't noticed because I'm tall and I distribute poundage better than say a 5'2" person... but really, you probably haven't noticed because you haven't seen me in months. I am now a nocturnal-underground creature who now only works at my job and works on selling her house and comes up for air and to squint my white glossy mole-type eyes into the sun and say "I used to be fun, really").

And hopefully, since I just bragged to the whole world wide web, the fates wont intervene and I won't gain it all back in a fit of chocolate-covered quesadillas and sleeping.

Oh, Just Swimmingly.

2010-01-19T22:13:00.007-06:00

I have been meaning to blog for awhile now. I'll have to thank Dusty for usurping my shower tonight so I am sitting here thinking about my new years resolutions.

Update on quiet times:

I have only carved out intentional time for the Creator Of The Universe about twice since the new year, BUT the intent is still on. I'm still going to make it a priority. It NEEDS to be a priority... see exhibits A thru C:

Update on listening more and interrupting people less:

I still interrupt incessantly. I feel worse about it now though. Oftentimes I tell people (I interrupt them) to tell them that I am sorry for interrupting them. This doesn't seem to be quite getting the spirit of the thing... but I am not giving up.

I'm actively trying to listen better, I can tell that I am improving a little. For example, my brother (who is and always has been very into shows about nerd stuff: geology of the earth, string theory, pandas,) was just telling me that there are these tribes of monkeys that live in secluded caves in Africa have learned to hold their breath for inordinate amounts of time and have learned to swim. I had to stop him and tell him that I was not listening. Honesty...that is progress right? I definitely told him again when he started telling me about bears that I was not listening. If I'm not looking at you I'm probably not totally focused. But I'll be more likely to tell you I am not focused. It's a pathetic start, but a start nonetheless.

Update on another thing I am not sure I called out as a resolution before, not being a total harsh bitch to the people I love the most:

Utter failure. Still doing that. In a most self-righteous style too. Apparently, still when I am my most hormonal, I am my most awful, my most "Pink" in that song "Please don't leave me". I have been saying for awhile that God knew that I would need lessons in not being harsh, so he has put some extremely sensitive people in my life to help me select my words better, but maybe they are just normal people and I am abnormally harsh, and he put the most graceful people in my life to love me anyway.

I have probably just figured out that I spent some formative years (and some latter years) in some fairly high-stress situations where I wasn't really given the opportunity to have any emotional responses to anything said to me. "For a group of people to work effectively, there has to be rules, those rules have to be followed." Right? Wrong. Corporately speaking, yes I agree still with that philosophy. On an individual level, though, especially around my own short comings, NO one was EVER harsh with me. I'm left with no plausible excuse. Even if I speak to the world the way I legitimately hear it speaking to me first, that isn't right either. So to you (you ALL know who you are, or were...yes you.) I am sorry. In the "Speak the Truth in Love" equation... I usually lack at least one at all times. Can we "Chat the Truth in Love?" Not very well.

So this do-er of the Word thing isn't going so well yet. I shall try again.

Ode to the "O's". Hello to the tens.

2010-01-01T01:16:00.006-06:00

For those of you waiting in breathless anticipation for my summary blog, yes both of you.

Your wait is over.

I have many things to say about '09, as well as the '00's as a decade. Yesterday (12/30), perhaps not mysteriously, I was feeling quite under the weather and unwilling to venture out into the weather, so i stayed in for the day. Something about snow makes me reflective. Not just because the sun streaming off the snow into your eyes can burn holes in your retinas. It always slows me down. It reminds me of being a kid and being awed that such teeny tiny little insignificant flakes that can't be caught in a warm little hand before melting, can band together to bury a barbecue grill, close school for a week, or run an eighteen wheeler off the road.

It coats and quiets me and muffles other sounds.

Like Pepto-Bismol you could say.

I rested. I worked for most of the day and then I started getting a little bit more antsy, so I attacked my house which has just needed attack for so long. I didn't travel as much in "oh niner" as i did in "oh ate" but I still did quite a bit. When I travel so much I often only have a short week or even a weekend to re-group before running back into the airport again, or into the office again. It makes things like "Dry Cleaning" and "Regular Maintenance" or "Gardening" simply funny words to say. So now that travel is ceasing for a least a few weeks, and holidays are mostly over, I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed a few bins from the basement. A few rubber-maid time-capsules, if you will.

As messy as I typically am, I love organization and getting un-messy. Evidenced by my bins of many colors, some labeled. (Some labels still match!) I have a box that used to be my desk that I organized once in the recent past. I am re-organizing it again due to an amazing new acquisition to my home this year. Ashley, the roommate extraordinaire. She is one of the most beautiful and thoughtful people I have ever met. Striking in her simplicity and grace, she strings together words that make me laugh so hard. She doesn't care that I had multiple Christmas trees sitting in the dining room undecorated since October. I moved them out of the spare room in order to make room for her arrival, but I never decorated them for Christmas. I realized two days ago that they totally had lights already on them from last year (which is why they were in the spare room to begin with) and I didn't even bother to plug them in. But I digress. Ashley is here..and she rocks... that's the point.

In one of the bins there were rolls of undeveloped film and a random hello kitty camera that Caroline Wacker gave me when I moved into my house four years ago. I got those developed...an WOW. Time has flown.

There were more old photos.. doubles of pictures I have already put in albums elsewhere, or pictures that were stuck together with some unidentified goo. They reminded me that:

I spent another whirlwind jaunt across the pond to Mama Ireland. I got to fly first class once and I'll never forget it. I traded a steamy St. Louis summer for a mild and rainy Irish one. I played 19 holes of golf in it's mother country and drank my first and last pint of Guinness. Perfected my Australian accent and took notes from the Dublin cabbies whose grasp of the language just slayed me. Do not be jealous. It was rainy. It was depressing in parts, lonely in others. I figured out that it's all a gift. All of it.

Marc the scrabble-feisty German Lion came for a quick visit. Took him to his first baseball game ever, where Albert hit a grand-slam. He thought that was normal. I stuffed him full of Cheeseburgers, Ted Drewe's and Budweiser and sent him on his bloated way. He told me to sit still. I responded by traveling to Ireland, as mentioned above. I do not follow directions well.

I spent some time in beautiful Portland Oregon with my long-distance crush. Rode on the back of a motorcycle branded 'Victory for 200 miles. (What a name!) Through the lush and fruity landscape of Oregon wine county and the Columbia River Gorge. Gorge is short for GORGEOUS. That is awful, but I'm leavin' it. Ate fresh crab just hours after pulling it from a cage in Tillamook Bay, and watched the sun go down on a rocky beach. My jaw just remained slack. I marveled at the height of the fabled evergreens and at my lumberjack on ice skates.

The Starlings made their first and only volleyball tournament appearance of the 08/09 season. They blew me away with what they learned in such a short time. They continue to blow me away. Continue to frustrate and crack me up all at the same time. Our hoodie wearing captain, now a much more confident 7th grader can now spike a volleyball out of my outstretched hand with some pretty good authority.

The beginning of '09 saw a derecho rip through my parents neighborhood, stripping naked the landscape of so many trees. Now, almost ten months later, it still looks like a battlefield, with fallen wooded soldiers strewn about.

I got rid of some bins of old toys in my heart. I got to talk about it.

This year I started eating better and losing a little bit of weight and working out and stuff. And the pattern before had been "Oh I screwed up.. since i am already off the bandwagon.. better cement it with a whole box of cookies...and then scrap the idea anyway, it's impossible...travel...work... blech" Excuses. I learned that so a woman thinks in her heart..so she is. I could have majored in "Pre-Defeat" in college.

This year I was given the gift of a subtle change and of a few examples of people walking our their subtle changes with big results. Simply telling myself different words helped: "I can take care of my body. I like working out. I like eating good food. If I don't, it's not the end of the world. I am not vain because I am losing weight." Satan wants to kill us one way or the other, either by making us starve ourselves or eat ourselves into early graves. Can't catch me in the middle, Chump.

I wish I had given myself permission to false start before. I met someone who wanted to make changes and they false started 4 times before eventually succeeding. They also kept post it notes of the false starts as a record of the battle in plain sight. Freaking Hero.

My photos also reminded me of how far I have come. In the year 2000, I was a 3 year old Christian. At about 2 and a half I wanted to go run away and be a missionary. Now, looking back, that may not have been the best idea for a toddler just barely learning to walk. God could have done many things regardless of my toddling, but maybe He did intend for me to toddle on domestic soils at first. He took me around the world later. He scaled me back and I went to Belize, then Mexico, then to downtown St. Louis and to Webster Groves before I realized that in relationships are primarily where his work is done. I have let the shame of that first false start go.

I spent a good deal of this past decade intensely if sporadically studying God's Word. I liken it to just exactly how long looking directly into the sun is possible. I also spent it building some pretty amazing community. Now that I'm a teenager, I'd like this next decade to be dedicated to being a do-er of that Word. To being less judgemental, more humble, more consistent and more willing to make mistakes and to get messy. To living out that Word better, truer, and more fully. Not for feathers in my cap, or jewels on the crown of my life...but for peace in my heart and the advancement of His kingdom on earth, one tiny snowflake at a time.

I spent most of the past decade wondering when my life was going to start. (Marriage kids, etc.)

I spent last night looking at records of the life that did actually happen and thanking God for it.

Basketball victories, travels, learning to ski, Damascus Road, Trivia Nights, Fire Pits, Prayer Vigils, Work Day's, Soup Kitchens, Cardinal Baseball, Home Purchasing, Roommate Shuffling, Basement finishing, My relationship with Beth Moore, My Relationship with God (those two are NOT the same, turns out), The Swiss Alps. The Swiss Valleys. The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The beginning of this blog. People starting to encourage me to write more. Me writing less because of it. (I'm getting there). Hanging with my Bro, riding my bike. Letting stuff go. Killin' monkeys.

Bring it on Teen Years. Bring it.

MRI (Murl's Ridiculous Incident)

2009-12-24T10:48:00.005-06:00

It's Christmas Eve.

I am thinking about my annual year end letter that I slap up on this blog and I get excited when I think about summarizing things. I like to take stock and bookkeep.

(Little known fact.. BOOKKEEPING has the most double letters in a row of any word in the English language...except for BOOKKEEPER and BOOKKEEP-ERSON.)

Before I take stock of 2009 (and maybe of the decade?) I wanted to let you know I've spent way to much time looking at a recent MRI of my shoulder.

I went to the good people at Missouri Baptist for a contrast media injection. They shoot this dye into your arm joint and then take a picture of it. Simple enough.

I am sure that I was not aware I had to strip down to my socks and underwear to get this procedure. Other wise I would not have brought every bulky belonging I had to the hospital that day. They let you tote your belongings with you in plastic bags. I needed three of them. (Purse, Coat, Clothes, Boots... it adds up.) Well I definitely picked that day to wear boots. Confession time: When I wear boots, I simply do not care about the socks happening underneath them. I wish I had cared a bit more that day because not only was I wearing two different socks, of two different colors, and two different materials (one was like a nylon trouser sock) but they were also two different heights. One was knee high. One was ankle high. I know. Man looketh on the outside, but the Lord looketh upon the socks.

I was draped in the typical gaping open hospital gown, just chatting up the nurse assisting the "Needle-man". Nurse-man was very fun to talk to and witty banter ensued. He assured me that I had the best "needle man" in the hospital, that he comes by special request and that he is very very good at what he does. I'm not scared of needles at all, so I'm wondering why this guy has to be so good at his job. How hard is this gonna be?

I was weirded out that I was being over-assured by nurse-man. So I start to get a little tense about this. And I'm always tense talking to strange men when I'm in a hospital gown and mis-matched socks.

Enter Needle-man. He is very professional and kind and just the level of nerdy that you want in your doctor, even if you may not want to have a beer with him later. I catch an exchange between nurse-man and needle-man:

Nurseman: "Heard you had one spray on you today!"

Needleman: "Yeah that was weird"

(Me... thinking WHAT is spraying exactly?? And from where? I thought this guy was Mister Needle-America?)

Needleman: "It was a faulty syringe, very strange occurance."

(Me...hmm. Ok, whatever.)

I am yoga-breathing trying not to stress out on the table. I like that needle man can laugh at spraying syringes. Glad he's confident enough to joke infront of his next victim. I figure no pain he is about to put me through will be as painful as spiking a volleyball is right now. So I relax considerably and wait.

Needle man explains in great detail again and begins the procedure. They sterile-drape me and are simultaneously taking x-rays to see where the needle is going. (I had no idea this was so complicated...really).

After about 5 minutes I see him laboring and pushing even though I feel nothing. Until

*SQUIRT!!!*

I gasp as a blob of goo lands on my right eye. Thanking the Lord that the body has reflexes and that mine are over-active already, I wonder if I am going to go blind or if this stuff is radio-active. (I know it's not..but I AM in the "nuclear medicine" wing.)

Doc freaks a bit. Asks me if I'm ok and pulls the needle out immediately. Flies around clanking instrument things and yelling STAT. (no not really). He does get a bit frantic and finally wipes me off. "You also have some of this stuff in your hair. It's harmless, but it could get sticky."

Free hair gel. Sweet.

He explains that my shoulder joint is really tight and he was having a hard time getting the needle in. The pressure he was putting on the fluid broke a tube connection leading to the needle and splattered me. So he re-drapes me. Re-iodines me and tries again. He got it in uneventfully this time and had a triumphant puff to himself after he finished. He said "You have the tightest shoulder joint I've ever tried to put a needle in. But we got it!" I wonder if they have an award for the tightest shoulder joint ever...a 'golden ball and socket' perhaps?

Nurse-man then gives me the cursory band-aid and plops me in a wheel chair to be transported to the "tube of uncomfortable vibrations" for the actual imaging. Speaking of images, get this one in your head: Me. My wheelchair. Hospital Gown. My mismatched socks. My three bags of belongings piled up on my lap. My hair that I had to free because of the metal in my hair clip. I looked like a homeless Micheal Bolton. Why am I in a wheelchair? I have no idea.

An hour later, I'm in the tube trying to convince myself that the fillings in my teeth are NOT heating up. (I later was informed that they actually, probably were heating up.)

An hour after that I was given the Coolest CD Ever of my shoulder.

Above are a few shots. I've been trying to self diagnose. I think a partial tear of the supraspinatus. Or just impingement. Or a labral tear. What do YOU think, Docs?

Frozen Fam

2009-12-22T10:44:00.004-06:00

No idea how this happened. Jodie and Kim got some AWESOME pics from the most horrible windy-blustery-eye-watering freezing conditions ever. Check us out!

http://freshartphotography.com/2009/12/merrill-family-the-very-blustery-day-st-louis-family-photographers/

Slanketized in Lake Tahoe

2009-12-16T20:07:00.006-06:00

That red thing on my arm is the delightful sleeve of my BRAND NEW SIAMESE SLANKET!!!! Oh yes. Four armholes to glory. I can wear one set, (the left set, the right set or the middle two!) I can also wrap it around and wear two arms at the same time. It makes me look like a red wined wizard. The santa hat helped.

Snowmobile Drifts... waist deep at least.

New ski boots + Better Ski Partners than me + Blizzardy Snow conditions = Grumpy Linz

Grumpy Linz + Thoughtful Bringer of Soft Street Boots and Complimentary Diet Cherry Coke = Swoony Linz.

The Owls... they're beautiful.

2009-11-21T01:05:00.001-06:00

Last night after coaching volleyball I showed up to my workout in jeans. On accident. I was already a bit late... I really really don't want to miss this workout, I get to kick things really hard. And I needed to kick something.

So I go in to the little gym right across the street from my work that I frequent. (Fitness in Motion.. personal trainers, highly recommended) and trainer Matt tells me that he will not let me wear jeans to workout! Ugh. Really? Why not? He says "No. No way. With what we do, you will ruin them" After driving all the way back from the city, I didn't want to scrap my time slot. So we make a deal that he would wait while I try to figure out the best place to find shorts.

I sprint out of the gym to my car and start my mental robo-scan of the area. Kohls? Too far. Walgreens? Maybe...

Wait a minute, sometimes gas stations have t-shirts and stuff. I distinctly remember a DR trip where we found a 3XL t-shirt that said "If Mama Ain't Happy. Nobody Happy" at a truck stop. I think a few people got into that shirt and took pictures.

Off to the QT I go. Maybe they have shorts in addition to random trucker T-shirts. To my chagrin, the QT on Lackland does NOT have trucker T-shirts, or shorts. They DO, however, have sock caps and gloves if you ever need to know that information. Say you need to rob the place and you didn't plan well. Also, they DO look at you funny if you walk into a QT and buy nothing.

Next. Hmm there is a La Quinta inn... maybe they have a lost and found? Ew. No. Next.

I decide that I am going to have to drive all the way to the nearest Walgreens when I pull out of the parking lot and notice the Hooters next door is hoppin.

HOOTERS?! Yes....

They sell shirts. I know it. Maybe they sell shorts too. You should have seen the look on the little hot-pants girl's face when I asked her if she had shorts for sale. She was probably thinkin that I wasn't the "hot pants" type. Well she was right about that, but she did point me to some hooters boxers on the shelf. Crotch sewed up. Perfect.

Sprinted back to the car and got back to the gym. I burst through the door and shouted a triumphant "HOOTERS BABY!!" Everyone cheered.

Pure Genius. Only lost about 10 extra minutes on the errand and 10 bucks for the shorts.

I didn't LOSE my retainer!

2009-11-04T11:34:00.003-06:00

Nope. I still have it.

But this time I stepped on it in the dark and broke it.

And FYI, superglue does not fix everything.

Wondering if Northwest Airlines needs Pilots

2009-10-27T22:24:00.002-05:00

The day I almost died was a blurry gray day in October. The rain had been consistently inconsistent for what seemed like weeks, lulling all of St. Louis into the doldrums. I was leaving work a little bit early to get my shoulder worked on by my massage therapist Mister Tom “Magic Hands” Burr. As I drove, I was checking in with my mom and dad who were golfing in Vegas as I pulled out of work. So while chuckling at my mom tell me to “whisper” while my dad was swinging his golf club five or so states away… (Really?...is the iPhone that loud from my end?)… I was momentarily transported to another place in time. A warmer place. A drier place.

Maybe that dry place stayed with me well after my phone was off, when my hands were firmly at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, and my eyes were fixed directly on the road in front of me as I rounded the bend from Page onto 270S. I must have been going too fast, but it was in super slow-mo, I began to realize that I was out of control. I instinctively knew that when you are out of control in a car you are not supposed to touch the steering wheel definitively and you are supposed to slam on the gas.

So naturally I jerked the wheel to the right and slammed on the brake.

As my life slid before my eyes I realized that I had a good life and I wondered also if I was going to do a 360, then when I realized I wasn’t going to do a 360, I took a few additional neuron fires to decide what level of spin in terms of degrees was worth re-telling if I got out of this alive. I think I did a decisive 90, twice, back AND forth.. so does that count as terrible and grand 180? No. I think perhaps not. I was still thinking of the things people would say about me at my funeral when my car came to a muddy anti-climactic rocking on the edge of the ramp. My rear-wheel drive Lincoln was a see-saw on a fulcrum of asphalt. I was fine.

Or was I? I was quite shaken. I then realized I didn’t have my seat belt on AND that I so forgot to sing the Carrie Underwood song. God was waking me up or something. I dunno. Anyway, I sat there glad to be still thinking thoughts and no cars came after me and I wasn’t in the way. I sat for many moments doing that thing I do in Target sometimes … “spinning”. Ohh lets uhm.. call this person.. or these people or no.. that’s dumb… uh ooh should I move? Wha…. Er… Uh? Ooh…Sparkly…and on SALE”

I realized then that death may not have come yet but still very much could if that faint smell I smelled was gas, and if it was indeed pouring out in a puddle beneath me, maybe I would soon be barbecued. Er. Uhm. No. That’s not gas, silly, and it’s wet outside anyway, just try to drive out, the car is fine. So I tried, but no wheels were touching anything else, problematic. I also then realized that if an 18 wheeler decided to do the same thing and go around that curve, it could jackknife into me. I deeply disappointed myself at my lack of snappy ideas. For a brief moment I thought that this was my wilderness test. That I could probably survive the wilderness on my resourcefulness, but at the on ramp to 270 in the middle of civilization, with my cell phone and the world-wide web at my fingertips, I was utterly useless.

Except I tucked my work pants into my boots so they wouldn’t get muddy. Good work, Linz.

I thought to stand way behind my car in case something big pushed it toward me. Wondering how I get a tow truck.. did I NEED a tow truck? Was my car beyond repair? Was it even broken? Who makes these assessments anyway? Good thing I’m not a Triage Nurse. (“Ooo.. Sparkly”) I thought to call my parents who I’d JUST been on the phone with… but no answer. Golf is happening. Why don’t I have triple A? Well my dad had the reason why once, maybe I call him again... he’s not answering. Er.. can’t I just drive the car away?? How hard can it be? Get back in the car, it’s raining. My undercarriage is sitting on asphalt, can’t be good. I get back out of the car. A guy drives by and asks me if I’m ok and I shrug over-dramatically. He pulls over and was trying to be helpful, but told me I was hung up. Thanks. He asked if I was going to be ok and I said yeah I have a phone. I eventually called someone near a computer who could flag me a tow truck. This isn’t hard.

Why do I explain this is such great detail? Because it could be on You Tube and I wanted to give you the mental script.

Because I finally got out when the Maryland Heights Police Car and the MoDot truck showed up almost simultaneously, and informed me that they “saw me on the video cameras”. The what?

They have cameras set up to look at dumb people I guess.

They were kind and not condescending. They stopped traffic so MoDot could pull me out backwards. I didn’t need a tow after all. Just stand around with your pants tucked into your boots and wander like an escaped mental patient and the authorities WILL show up.

And that’s how Lindsey does it on a Monday.

Peace

Slanket Rules. So does Bruce.

2009-10-24T12:13:00.004-05:00

I have made no secret of my love for the Slanket. I also have an intense like for mister Bruce Willis and his lack of hair. Imagine my delight when I ran into THIS video.

I am not sure if I ever chose this venue to vehemently deny the usefulness of the Snuggie, versus the far superior Slanket. I will do this now.

Some points for your consideration:

1. The Slanket was the first. The snuggie is like generic product.

2. The Slanket is luxurious and thick like your favorite velour blanket. The snuggie is reminiscent of those airplane fuzzy things that almost look like a piece of felt.

3. The Slanket comes in colors with names like "Royale with Sleeves"

4. The Slanket would never have a TV commercial. Let alone a TV commercial that shows models wearing them in public.

5. The Slanket now comes in a "Siamese" version. Four joyous arm-holes for two people to enjoy. WHOA. Take that snuggie! Slanket-ness times TWO.

6. The original Slanket does cost more than the snuggie, but filet mignon costs more than a cheeseburger.

7. The Slanket recognized the need for a smaller version and came out with the Travel Slanket, which is the only time they would suggest wearing one outside the comfort of your own home, and I think on an airplane is indeed the only acceptable time to use a Slanket. Kudos, Slanket, Kudos.

Greer Quotes:

2009-10-21T13:01:00.002-05:00

The Lippert kids kill me.

"Lindsey, in real life.... in REAL life... are there babies named Tarzan?"

"When I grow up and have a baby I'm going to name it 'Gallop' "

"Even though you don't live with us, I love you"

Some Ladies Fightin' Some Stuff

2009-10-19T22:49:00.006-05:00

I had the blessed opportunity to speak last night at a class my dear friend Debbie is teaching about the pieces of our minds. I decided to post my talk here. I think I referred to this in more vague terms before on this venue, so some of this is repeat...but i thought it was worth saying again. (Especially since some of you asked to see my blog and I couldn't have the first post about bees be the first thing you saw).

The background is that this class is about the things and voices that rattle around in our minds that ursurp our freedom in Christ. My week (and my struggle) was on the "I am" statements. The women were asked to write out the things they hear in their minds to dicern and divide them and throw some of the stuff away:

"I am overjoyed to be speaking with you today about the journey I went on to get free from myself. In fact, I am even more thrilled that as I tried to recall the awful things I used to think and say about myself I couldn't remember them. I wrote them all out once in an exercise much like you have done, except mine was on a giant neon yellow poster in Debbies kitchen and Tom must have seen it behind the frige and thought "whoa, Lindsey has issues" I had two solid pages of "junk in my drawer" and I couldn't recall any of it. I mean it was a LOOOONG list. So in fear of pulling the garbage back in off the curb and going thru it again and being tempted to take some of it back...(ooh i like that one... i don't want to throw IT out...) I didn't try to hard to recall them, but I did eventually remember the gist of my trauma. And it centered around these themes:

1. Perfectionism. "If I'm not perfect, 'just me' isn't enough."
2. Body Image. "Enough said."
3. Self-Depreciating humor. "If I'm my own worst enemy AND it's funny, no one can hurt me, or have reason not to love me."

Certainly these things sometimes worked for me. Number three probably got me through junior high. Certaintly there are strands of truth woven into our lies. Certainly after I laid these things down... I began to notice these patterns in other people and I could finally see how ugly they really were. I started to think "I wonder if THEY know they don't have to put themselves down, and I wonder if they know how deeply insecure it makes them sound?"

Why did I keep saying this stuff? And it's not even stuff that came out of my mouth very often, but it was the foundation of the things I really believed to be true about myself and the reasons that I wasn't happy. The reasons God wasn't blessing me. The reasons I was single. It soon became clear to me that this was an addiction. I had a conversation once (it was actually Debbie) and she asked me what would happen if I just didn't degrade myself anymore even with humor? What if I just didn't do it anymore? I blurted out quickly (which was such an indicator of my heart...) "If I let this go, I'll be lonlier than I already am" My over-extreme humility (which is actually a twisted form of pride) was my drink and I didnt even know it.

Luckily, even though I had a hard time recalling this old junk, I have this blog. I went back to some of my writings and found a little bit of a reminder about what life was like back then. This was ONLY a year ago for me. Which I hope is an encouragement of how far away this stuff can get rather quickly. This strong hold in my life made up of the mean and destructive things that I used to think about myself and the mis-truths about the world became burdensome to me after I had them identified. I had collectively named this burden and still refer to it as "the sock monkey". This security thing that I needed to survive. I wrote about the war in my mind:

What if I just let it go? This thing that I am carrying. It's no work to carry it really, I mean I can barely exist without it. The crusty old thing I drag around, this little sock monkey with it's mouth all made of zig-zaggy threads and covered in germs that my body has grown immune
to. I have eaten with it, slept with it, showered with it lived with it, vomited on it, cried when people have tried to take it. I have refused to hand it to God when he has asked me to lay it down. It's who I am, it's what makes me "me" and "interesting", right? It's that part of "crazy" that makes good art. It's the extreme humility that forces people to adore you. If you take my monkey, you are asking me to redefine my very "me" that some people happen to like just fine. Self degradation, CAN be funny. I mean c'mon really funny. I am a hilarious specimen of person. I have stories to last a lifetime about what a freak I am. Why ask me to give that up?? If I get screwed over with this spacious cathedral of a body, with the ridiculously solid size 13 feet, at LEAST let me have fun with it the only way I know how?

If I let this go. What can I trust to fill it's place? What if it's not filled right away, how do I deal with that perhaps boring hole? I am not brave enough to deal with that gaping hole. Who wants to trade this in for a "cross" to bear anyway...I'll keep my musty monkey.

This seems somehow like the fight of my life.

I am starting to not want to drag the monkey around. I think, much like my hair styles, that it's
time for me to change. Just see what it would be like, to finally not have it. I imagine it might feel like a person who has been wearing a fanny pack for 29 years and then once it's removed keeps
trying to stick gum wrappers and chap stick in it. It might be time. At twenty-nine, this is the first birthday that I have physically felt, like a clock struck midnight and then it struck me in the face. Struck me physically. I have a shoulder falling out of socket and a two knees that crunch like breakfast cereal when I walk, and maybe it's time not to depend on my athletic ability, my outward appearance, or my debilitating matted sock monkey, to be attractive and worthwhile.

Maybe it wasn't working anyway.

Maybe it's time to trust, REALLY TRUST that my identity in Jesus is REALLY enough.

So...for all the people who love me and desire me to finally see things as they really are. I am attempting to lay my cold weapons down. The ones I have taken up long ago against me. The weapons that I would never wield against anyone else.

So be praying. I don't know how this works. It's been with me longer than
Jesus has."

___

So....I wrote it out. I was honest. It was ugly. Really ugly. Once on paper the sock monkey stared back up at me, caught in the act of trying to own me and I got angry at it. I prayed through it, I gave it to God and I decided that my sock monkey was not fun to be with anymore and infested with lies and harmful satan bacteria and I gave it up.

I'm not trying to sell you a product here, an infomercial where I am giving you the magical before and after shots, it was a process, there were many other failed attempts at leaving these chains behind.

Once I recognized it as the right thing to do, I wasn't even convinced that it was necessary to leave it. It required some trust in God. I wrote about what it was like after the fact:
_________

"Thus, when my heart opened up so very big, and gulped some fresh air.. some emptiness followed... as it often does when you stop running from yourself so hard. So I'm sitting here now, in a little bit of expectancy, hope, and oddly enough some peace.

Just peace.

It's quiet, it's purposeful, and pregnant with possibility, it's as if I've made room for something in my soul by taking out some garbage. The crap out on the curb is rather rotten and... as I see now, not inconsequential.

It's now like I am a beautiful empty apartment waiting to be furnished... or like a canvas that has a beautiful fresh base-coat just waiting for color.

I am reminded that God only wiped the slate clean once with the flood. After that, he said no matter how grave it gets, I will chase you. I will woo you back to me. No matter where you go, what you do, if you are mine and intended for me, I will find you and keep you and redeem you. No matter how broken your bones are, my breath is sufficient to make them dance again."
____

I am happy to tell you that I am a completely different person. I still have things that struggle with now and again and I was very recently made aware of one of the next big ones and I'm intending to tackle that next. I have the success from this "Phase 1" of Lindsey's Redemption to look back on and know that God is to be trusted with my junk.

It's so much better without that sock monkey. People didn't shy away, they came closer.

I no longer required that they fix me, or appease me or tell me my "I" statements weren't true. They recognize me as calmer and more peaceful, less needy to be the center of attention. Way more content with who i am. (At least I think so). They don't even have to laugh anymore.

And. That. Is. Freeing.

God truly, through the power of prayer, redeemed me and let me get my head above water long enough to let life happen to "just me".

Thanks for listening, and PS don't go image searching for sock monkey pictures on the internet. There are life sized anatomically correct ones. Ew. Is there nothing pure left in the world??

Addendum

2009-10-06T22:20:00.002-05:00

That bee thing was crazy. Final tally of bees I have found...dead already. 205.

I received another book about writing. I think I need to write more. (Finished a book too, leaving the unfinished book tally at 9).

By the numbers...

2009-09-24T21:22:00.003-05:00

13 = Number of dead Bees found in my bathroom… at once.
1 = Number of dead bats created in front yard.
1 = Number of destroyed cookie sheets as a result of previous line item

30 = Number of years I have been on the earth
1 = Number of birthday paper shredders now in my possession.
Endless = hours spent enjoying said paper shredder, and quantities of junk mail chomped by its hungry teeth.
1= Times that I almost cried at work because my boss referred to me as a “Cougar” since I am now 30. (I am not a Cougar, for the record).

9= Number of books I am currently reading.
0= Number of books I effectively took with me on my most recent plane flight to Denver.

1/5 = Level in the cereal box that my brother consumes down to before buying a new box. Seriously... to the grain.
3 = Number of times that he has done this to rice krispies alone since my last pantry clean out.
8 = Number of other non discriminate cereals he has also deemed "finished"
0 = Number of boxes he thought to throw away after they were "finished"
225 = Number of pounds, in kettlebell weights, that I cannot move that sits in my living room year round.
Endlessly = How much I love my idiot bro.

2009-09-10T11:40:00.002-05:00

Portland Rose GardenTillamook Bay

Road thru the mountains to the Coast

A Bacon Maple Doughnut, which was promptly sent to Anne Ritland Williams upon it's procurement. It effectively combines her number 1 and number 2 favorite foods.

Me eating a super juicy pluot. (Plum + Apricot) on the beach.

Sneak Peek of Portland

2009-09-09T17:59:00.002-05:00

Galway. A long story. (But a good one).

2009-08-23T10:09:00.010-05:00

In Galway, I stopped into a shop on my way down to the coast and was startled by this little kid mannequin. I always jump at things like this, if you know me at all.

This little androgynous thing seemed to want to tell me something. A silent plea if you will... "Please ma'am take me with you...

"Or else I'll end up like that headless kid over there! She just dropped her backpack right where it was!

"Sorry, Irish Cousin of Chucky. I have to leave you here. Keep your head on straight."

I took this day trip to Galway, Ireland because Heidi suggested I go there. So I went. I have to kinda force myself to travel alone because it's a little bit weird, but i always seem to like it once I do it. I'm not the best planner beacause I don't take the time to research. I figure if you plan too much and it doesn't work out, you can get dissapointed. So I often prefer to let the wind take me where it will go on days like this. I just like wandering and shopping and looking at beautiful stuff absorbing in culture and being surprised instead of scheduled.

...And meeting random awesome people. How did I take this picture ? Not some auto-timer. It was seemingly ordained, that I met a rockin' Canadian companion. A girl on my train was traveling alone through Ireland after being in the Ukraine with her mom and sister. She befriended me after I scarfed a sandwich while sitting on a bench in the pedestrian area of Galway. She remembered my red coat when she stood in line at the train station behind me. We happened to be headed to the same place down the coast so we journeyed together to check it out.

She is a small animal vet who grew up playing hockey with the boys (we clicked immediately) and she told me all about dog breeds to not get as a pet (Terriers on the top of the list of NO's). I told her all about threaputic protein drug manufacturing. She was actually interested because she was an end user of injectible drugs we help produce. It was a really nice walk with a new Canadian awesome nerd pal. Here last name is Matenchuk!! Is that not a great hockey last name?

On the way home on the train, I met the most ridiculously beautiful Italian family. Mom and Dad and 21 year old Alex. I am not gonna lie, he was yummy and he needed English lessons. I felt like that lady in "Eat Pray Love" as I tried not to make out with him infront of his parents.

His parents didn't speak any English at ALL and were trying to learn some from young, gorgeous Alex. So he had written some phrases in English on the page. "A Paint of Guiness" was my fave. We bonded through the shared experience of being completely annoyed by a little Irish-American girl who had to be mentally challenged, that was singing Italian opera while her headphones were in her ears while itermittently having loud conversations with strangers throughout the train. When she figured out that Alex was Italian, she pounced. Moved seats to play English/Italian charades. Painfully awkward. I shot knowing glances at the annoyed parents to hopefully let them know all Americans were not like this. She stuck her headphones in his ears and asked him to translate the opera she was singing, made him exchange phone numbers, and gave him an awkward I just met you good-bye hug from a train seat. I couldn't stop smiling. As she ran off the train she yelled out, begging her new friend to text her when he returned to Italy.

After she left, I found out thru my own lame attempts that Spanish is really not as close to Italiano as I would like it to be. Carla, the mom, and Salvatore, dad (are you kidding me?) live in a small villiage close to Austria in the Alps. Sigh. They ski every Sunday. No wonder they are both so tragically beautfiul. Carla was of course the epitome of Italian beauty and Salvatore is a cop. A "big high up important cop" is how Alex said it. Made me think that they were really in the mob. Then I remembered that it is impolite to ask what Europeans do. I'm on a need to know basis. After I found out that Alex didn't like skiing and his dad was in the mob, I went back to my book :)

A few more tidbits from the trip:

Another sight in the Galway Mall. This is the old city wall... they just attached a mall to it. Kudos, Galway.

What is "streaky bacon" anyway? Anne, Jesse? My resident bacon connesieurs? Anyone? After i posted this menu, I noticed the "Get Stuffed" sandwich. That is funny too. You can't make this stuff up.

I leave you free-radicals like me with the charge to GO! See pretty things and pretty people. See different things. Get off the couch! GO. (Or get out of the hotel bed! Whatever the case may be!).

My Second Video Blog Ever.

2009-08-22T16:49:00.004-05:00

I deleted the first video blog ever. This one was taken at a driving range in Galway, Ireland.

For my dad mostly...

Things that made me chuckle

2009-08-09T21:02:00.006-05:00

The folks I have been hanging around in Ireland have been the source of delicious quotable fodder.

Lindsey: "So I bet driving in the US was a bit of an adjustment, being on the right and all."

Cabbie#1: "Yer f#*$'in right it was an adjustment... they don letcha drive on the bloody left!"

Cabbie #2 trying to find an out-of-the-way restaurant...calls his dispatcher for more information and when he finds the restaurant location, she tells him about his next pickup. A woman needed a larger cab, like his, but only because she had a big black bag.

Cabbie #2: "A big black bag? I hope she hasn't chopped up 'er husband* in dere!"

(Husband pronounced...Hooose-band....and Cabbie#2 was named Patrick Murphy).

Scottish client has also been a priceless example of the grasp of the language.

Scottish client to a waitress: "Didja sue 'em?"

Waitress: "Excuse me?"

Scottish client: "Didja SUE 'em?"

Waitress: "Sue who?"

Scottish client: "The Charm School you went to"

Dublin Airline Security attendant: "Do you have any liquids or Umbrellas in there?"

Me: "No." He couldn't have just said 'umbrella' he must have said something else.

Second Dublin Airline Security person: "Is this your bag? Do you have an Umbrella in here?"

Me: "I THOUGHT that's what he asked me...." I did have one. A very menacing blue one about five inches tall.

A letter I'd like to write to the airline security personnel... if you ask us to declare different things at every stinkin checkpoint world-wide, you cannot get mad at us if we do not know that shoes are supposed to go directly on the belt or that I need to declare my umbrellas up front.

An English co-worker brought an interesting statistic to my attention: "One in every three Amercians weighs more than the other two."

I decided to come back with "Oh yeah? Two in every three Englishmen are drunker than the other one"

Not sure if either are true... but they are both funny.

Golfing Buddy: "Lindsey, you are up the arse of every tree on the course."

That was very much true.

Playa of the Month!

2009-08-04T16:13:00.002-05:00

http://www.longdrivers.com/ldaplayer.php

Yay Dusty!!

He does the best when I am not there to watch!

The Book of Lindsey's Head

2009-08-02T17:37:00.001-05:00

This was me sitting on the lawn outside Trinity College Library where the Book of Kells is on display. It was right up my geeky-bible/love-of-turquoise alley. Go ahead and click on the links and stare slack-jawed and buggy-eyed, like I did.
I had a pilgrimage-y sort of day. It all seemed holy, from the too loud clicking of my boots through the quiet wooden halls as I drank in the books produced by a monastic lifestyle to the stuffy and grand Trinity Library upstairs to the schmaltzy gift shop below which was more hustly and bustly and alive than either of the the solemn halls.

And then I bought stuff.

I sat on the edge of a restricted lush green fairway-like lawn on the campus and wondered why they planted this beautiful perfect grass if we cannot walk on it? It turned my brain back to the monks. Were they doing what they were made for, really? Was a quiet and solemn life what God intended for these bodies? Did they feel cheated? Would I? Is what they gave the world...this book...these writings, was it the plan all along? I can look at this beautiful book all day, through an inch of glass, but i cannot flip through the pages, I cannot read Latin, and I do not think I know Jesus any more or less. Perhaps the knowledge that these people believed as strongly as they did to direct their whole lives and beings and purpose to Jesus is a great historical comfort to me.

I concluded that the monastic grass was rather appropriate here in this place, but I think I'd rather be playing golf on it. Leaving chunky wet divot-scars all over the ground while playing. Living life loudly.

And then I went all Brian Fellows on that bird. "Who does dat bird think he is? Why is he mocking me? White bird, can't you read? Brian Fellows will NOT be mocked, Bird! I'm Brian Fellows!" That bright green tree struck me. Because the rest of campus looks like Gotham City. Like this:
I got up and wandered around the city, afraid that if I got hit by a cab like that Just Jack song, that no one would know that today was a good day. Walking by myself in a large European city always makes me wary of my own funeral and of pick pockets. I eye every person with deep distrust and I try not to present my backpack zippers to anyone. It's a little different when you are not by yourself, I think. You do not seem such an easy target. Regardless no one did pick my pocket. I stuffed my money in my jeans where I can barely get my hand in there myself to fish out money. Other than that, Ireland is kinda like being at your cousin's house. A little different but still feels connected and homey.

Dinner for one. Dessert for me. Book suggested by Wayne. (THANK YOU, WAYNE!)

More on Golf to come. Yarp.

Best Thing Ever

2009-08-01T23:25:00.001-05:00

I know it's an over used phrase. Very few things fall in the "ever" catergory. But trust that my words are true in this case.

So amazing was this thing, that I have fears that the high point of my life has now passed me. I always like to think that the best in life is ahead, but I do not know if I will be able to replicate the awesomeness that happened to me just two weeks ago.

I had just come down with a nasty sinus head cold, the very day I was to leave Ireland and come home. I was not looking forward to this voyage. Altitude plus stopped up brain sometimes equals holes in eardrums. (Right Deb?)

So sadly, I head to the airport praying fervently that this journey would be as painless and fast as possible.

I have platinum status on American Airlines, thanks to the good people at Novartis. This means that I SHOULD have gotten in the short line when checking in on my long flight, but I was steered to the wrong line of cattle and had to wait for ages, and ages and ages. Finally, my underweight bags were checked and I was on my way. A blessedly short security line later, I was meandering around the duty free shops and the little trinket stores waiting for my flight to board. My aforementioned Platinum status has been so boss, I get on the plane earlier, and I now have my pick of the exit rows on the long flights. Oh it's nice. But I had no clue what happiness was in store for me when I wandered up to the line to board.

I walking into the line and the nice lady at the boarding podium (which happened to be the same woman who informed me that I stood in the wrong line earlier) stopped me. Said "OH come with me" I didn't have a clue what was up. She hadn't scanned my ticket either, so how did she know something was up? Was she waiting for my name? Did they find something contraband in my luggage?

Then she wrote a new number on my boarding pass in beautiful blue ink. "You are now 4G. You have been upgraded."

Wha--? Double Take.

Wha--, Wha--?

What does that mean? I wonder as I skip down the jet way to my Trans-Atlantic First Class seat...head still full of fluids.

It means the best flying experience I have ever had. It means orange juice and champange before takeoff. It means crossing my legs freely. (WHAT?) It means noise-cancelling headphones, it means flight attendants who are so nice to you, you want to get up and let THEM sit down in your seat. It meant a little shoe-holder bag...with extra socks in it. A bag of toiletries including fresh-tingly hand lotion, and a moist towelette, toothpaste and toothbrush, a comb and an EYEMASK. It meant parmesean-encrusted salmon with wild rice and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies served on a TABLE CLOTH? It meant my own personal entertainment center. It meant a seat that nearly reclinded to horizontal with zero impact on passengers around you. It means an automated extentable foot rest. It meant big fluffy pillow and a giant gray comforter! Those tiny blankets that make you choose which part of your body is to freeze were a thing of the past. None of these napkin-sized red felt fuzz-generator snuggies. NO SIR.

I nearly cried when I saw the leg room. Almost bawled. My poor, giant, unflexible, poorly-circulated restless legs and my tired swollen aching monster feet have been crushed, crammed, reclined into, rolled over, and inadvertantly mistaken for under the seat luggage.

Tears of joy would have come streaming down my cheeks except my head cold was having none of that. I just kept thanking whoever would hear me. As each wonderment was revealed I kept thinking...I am not worthy. And there SO is a GOD. A God who spoke my love language so ravenously. What more could I want? I am certain I am a much larger percentage less likey to get blood clots from poor circulation. So much more rested with the white noise of the engines cancelled out. And there are SO many buttons on the seat controller! And a vast array of boozes for the chooses. (I declined, since i'm all about hydration when travelling.)

This. Is. The. Way. To. Fly.

Just ask Garth Brook's Manager. I sat by him on the flight, he helped me with the buttons. Yeah.. .he was born in St. Louis. He's kind of a big deal.

"I'm in the music/entertainment business... I'm well.. maybe you've heard... I'm Garth Brooks Manager"

[Gaping Mouth] "Yeah, I've heard of him." I was cool for about twenty minutes before I finally blurted this out:

"You tell Garth I won a walkman karaoke contest singin' 'Friends in Low Places'. You tell him Lindsey in St. Louis says 'Thankyou very much'."

Wasn't I JUST SAYING that Garth Brooks is the greatest American Songwriter of ALL TIME?

I was. Look it up. Two or three posts ago.

Super.
Boom.

It's all downhill from here, folks.

I'm pretty sure.

Look out, World's Fair!

2009-07-31T13:05:00.001-05:00

New Irish Golfer Friend: "Lindsey, is it?"

Lindsey: "Yes."

NIGF: "Ah, lovely. Where in the states are you from?"

Lindsey: "St. Louis, Missouri"

HIGF: "Oh, like the 'Sex and the City', right?"

Lilndsey: "No. Um.. I think that is New York"

NIGF: "No no... you know the girl...from St. Louie?"

Lindsey: Lightbulb turning on. "OH yeah!... her Assistant LOUISE, who is from St. Louis, yes, yes, that is right."

Who knew that the Sex in the City movie has put St. Louis on the international map again?

10 Things I learned in Ireland.

2009-07-23T22:23:00.002-05:00

Story of the picture below. I took a picture of this window because first time Jack and I passed by this particular box window, which is about four stories above a busy intersection, there was a little boy about 9 or 10 standing in this window buck naked. He was drumming his chest and just staring out ...presenting himself to the world. Jack said all the kid needed was a bow and arrow to be a cherub or something. It was so very strange. Cool little video about barrel making on the Guiness tour. Hazing for barrel makers included being shoved into one of these barrels filled with poo and getting rolled down the street. That is how they knew they were worthy to be 'one' of the gang.

I like to track things that are quirky about cultures because they interest me. I do this often. See here, here, and here. Here we go.

1. Crosswalks are deadly. In Switzerland, the pedestrian, and even moreso, the cyclist were king. In Ireland, you better look the other other way. You can't see the drivers menacing "i'm gonna nail you" glare because you aren't looking for it in that side of the car window.

2. Pudding, I think, means sausage. Hmm.

3. In the grocery stores, the ones in shopping malls, they charge you for plastic bags and discourage the use of plastic bags entirely. This may be a good idea. Jack had a better idea, he stole the produce bags in the back of the store and stuff them in his pockets. That's why they pay him the big bucks.

4. The weather man in Ireland has the easiest gig ever. "Cloudy with a chance of rain...everyday. It will be either 64 or 65 degrees today... we are all on pins and needles."

5. At an Indian restaurant I got a Diet Coke with a mint sprig in it. Lovely.

6. Even the toilet water in Ireland is Green.

7. No offense to the Irish at all, they have been very warm and kind people, but I think people in places take on the identity of the weather where they live... that kinda makes sense. The Swiss were Cold, the Irish are kinda dreary yet mild (see note 4), the people from St. Louis are one extreme after another.

8. Ireland is pretty far north. Read: in July, sun streams in at 5 am, and until 10:20pm (i timed it).

9. Guiness apparently tastes better in Ireland because the Irish are the only ones who know how to serve it. They CIP the pipes regularly, so that the stout doesn't sour. I think Guiness is still horrid, but it is now bearable with the tip that a shot of black currant can sweeten it right up.

10 This has nothing to do with Ireland. I just learned a useful tip...drink bitter beers with the bitter part of your toungue. Sweet Sippin' Sally over here coulda used that information years ago. It makes all the difference in the world to throw it to the back of the throat, avoiding the sweet area of the tongue. It does help choke down a guiness. Wish I had that information when 17 natives were watching me drink my first pint.

A Very Short Story, by Lindsey Merrill.

2009-07-14T05:29:00.002-05:00

This morning as i got into work, I realized i needed to use the loo. I went into the bathroom and noticed the frothy green toilet water left over from the morning cleaning.

I then noticed a rather large ker-plunking sound.

I looked down at the green frothy water (yes everything here in Ireland is green) and saw no ripple in the bowl, nor could i see anything beneath the froth.

However I had a horrifying thought about what could have just happened. So on a whim, you could say, by faith, with no proof of what was down there, only the knowledge that if what i thought was down there, was indeed down there, there wouldn't be a second to lose, I jammed my hand down into the frothy green water and grabbed.

It was there. My heart sank into the sea-foamy depths of Eire despair.

I dropped my iPhone in the toilet.

It's ruined. Well maybe not all is lost, i did get it turned off quickly. Maybe there is hope...but no hope for phone calls anytime soon.

You would think I'd be heartbroken, but you know.. i think I'm secretly impressed with myself. I mean I have had that phone AWHILE. And I'm JUST now dropping it in toilet water? I gave myself three weeks tops before doing something asinine like this. It's kinda like when I didn't kill my fish for a few years. Snuggles lived a good long life.

As it is with this phone.

Yeowsah.

Sneak Peek

2009-07-09T19:15:00.000-05:00

Garth is Killin' Me Softly

2009-06-28T16:12:00.004-05:00

Hi.

I haven't brain dumped here in a while. I have a lot flying around up inside my head these days, mainly, the lyrics to one of my favorite Garth Brooks** tunes (sing it with me now):

Ireland, I am coming home
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone.
I am reaching out, won't you take my hand?
I'm coming home, Ireland.

The Rest of the Lyrics:

I am on a project overseas again. I'm feeling a little anxioius. It feels a little bit like standing once again at the top of the same ski slope where you previouisly broke your leg and had to be dragged down the hill in a papoose by a slobbery St. Bernard.

Mostly all healed up and doing fine, but still pretty...anxious. On the other hand, it's Ireland and I've never been and I'm excited to go there and have some adventure. Not to mention rack up some frequent flyer miles.

I am blogging and I shouldn't be. I should be doing one of three things. Cleaning my house and organizing for my soon to be suitcase life, getting a jump on work for next week, or being outside in my hammock because it's flippin goreous outside.

But nonetheless, I am loving this Sunday. As I reflect on the week, I got to sit with the lovely Liz for bit this afternoon, and last night I got have dinner and toast this life with four amazing, beautiful, courageous, Godly, hysterical, authentic, gifted women. Yesterday, I got to have lunch with a long time friend and co-worker back in town for a bit. The night before I flopped on a couch at George and Jaels and just shared some good delicious life. The night before that, Maddie, Annie and Banjo came for dinner, a walk and some Monsters, Inc. We caught lightning bugs and made plans to pull weeds in my yard.

How did I get so blessed with such good friends? Such vast and deep community? I certainly did my best not to cultivate it, and in spite of me, I have it now, in this time.

For that I am thankful. Over the top, gushy, intensely thankful. Just in time to leave again. I take a deep breath, and exit the ski-lift.

Now the fog is deep and heavy
As we forge the dark and fear
We can hear their horses breathing
As in silence we draw near
There are no words to be spoken
Just a look to say good-bye
I draw a breath and night is broken
As I scream our battle cry

** I just happen to believe Garth Brooks is the greatest American songwriter of our time.

Oh yeah...

2009-06-23T13:43:00.001-05:00

And I'm going to Ireland. For work again. Only six weeks this time. Broken up in to three separate trips. Living out of a suitcase... here we come again!

I will get a new camera for this. Any pointers? I'm looking for good clear pics out of an ultracompact camera.

Happy Father's Day Everyone.

2009-06-19T20:29:00.002-05:00

A story for this day.

My Grandpa eats, sleeps and breathes sports accomplishments from his nursing home bed where he hasn't been able to walk for the past 12 years. We struggle to figure out what to get him for occasions because of his situation, and his failing mind, so we opt for silly little things... peanuts for the squirrels outside his window...sweatpants...westerns. Things for his life confined to his bed.

My Aunt's boyfriend, one of the most thoughtful men I have ever met, trumped us all forever in the gift giving department this Father's Day. He went to the high school where my parents and my grandparents attended and found a picture of my grandpa's basketball team from 1948. Read: it was black and white and not because it was trendy. He took a picture of this old photo and had it blown up and re-framed. The photo was from when my Grandpa's team went to the state tournament and got 4th that year. Maybe not a big deal, but my parents hometown is like 400 people that came and went with the mines. My Grandpa's team's story made it into a small book written about the history of this area and it's something that has always been near and dear to his heart.

We try to make him forget who he was so he isn't so sad, so he doesn't ask us things for things that we can't give him. This guy, while not even officially a part of our family, loved this difficult man very well by giving him back his dignity.

For a brief teary-eyed moment. That man gave my grandpa back his legs.

In other news, also for Fathers Day, somehow I ended up with a brand new rake in my back seat. Dad is always finding ways to stick stuff like this in my car. He apparently got this one for free because he bought so much stuff at the Home Depot? I have had such various and sundry items in the Murl Mobile from Papa, including a broken axe handle to be used..."Just in case you break down and have to walk somewhere..."

To Be Filed Under

2009-06-07T13:59:00.000-05:00

Things you don't miss until they are gone:

1. Driver side car window.

It's currently completely lost inside my door. Clanking around mockingly as the rain pelts inside.

With no driver side window, you forget that you should move your computer out of plain sight. When you come to your senses, and put it in your trunk, you are halfway through the checkout at Target before you realize...that doesn't help. Your trunk is still accessible. Idiot.

In fact, I think my car has had a stroke. The whole left side seems waga. I have an engine light on. And maybe just because my window is down, I am forced to listen to the sounds my car makes more carefully. Now there is a whine that seems to come from the left side, brakes are squeaky and and I think maybe the tires on the left side are low.

Yes I blog about this rather than fix it.

Monkeys, Toes, Pies, Garbage and... oh just read it.

2009-05-31T20:09:00.011-05:00

Prolly should be in bullets, these thoughts:

Three weeks, i think, that is the longest we, the residents of 209 Newport Ave, can go without putting the garbage on the curb.

Two bunny rabbits have been wishing me well on my way out the door this past week. I feel like Snow White.

I cant tell you when i have been more at peace. I am not even waiting for the dropping of the other shoe. This doesn't mean I have any more knowledge of the future, I just have more trust in the goodness of the Designer.

I wonder if there are people who actually make their beds everyday. I wonder what their problem is anyway.

Exactly half of me is sick of the interior of my home. I want to have someone come in and make it "cool" and inviting and artsy and stuff. I want to make people feel welcome, but maybe not as cool as me and my space. The other half of me wants to tell people that my hand me down stuff is "cool' as it is, because I have purchased none of it, and it kinda goes together, even if it's old and every bit of it has a story. Very few things have I purchased. The art work of my friends and family are the stories hanging on the walls. The dining room table I have was my parent's and I have eaten around it since I was a baby. Sara from college left me the awesome retro chairs. I wonder, though, which half is better, the half that cares about the stuff being polished and new, or about the stuff being meaningful and important...maybe it's just stuff still and I shouldn't really care what people think of it and my stories. Maybe I'll just paint. That may help.

The same halves of me are warring on whether or not to care about the digital TV revolution. I admit I have looked at sexy flat screen TV's. But I also admit since I stopped paying for cable, I like me more, I compare me and my life less, I have more time and I watch shows that I like intentionally with people, or I watch them online if I want to, and I haven't missed a thing. I rent DVD's more and I read more books now. If I lived alone, this is the way it would stay, as the money, to me, is not justifiable. Dusty likes watching sports though...and he may win.

So it's no secret to those who know me that I have been creeping around like an old lady these days because of this drug i am taking that is shredding my joints. I am almost done with the drug and the entire left side of my face is completely zit-free for the first time since I was probably ten years old. I have felt my skin for the first time.

John came to visit and we made pies.

My book, I think will be a women bashing book. The sole purpose of Christianity and the Church is not so that women and children feel safe and secure all the time. That is a promise that we were never made. I'm baking this idea more...

Blue toenail polish has been my signature color for awhile now. Dusty says it looks like I kicked a smurf. But apparently its the "in" color right now. I think I should be getting some royalties for this trendsetting. Don't you?

My new fave quote. From Wild at Heart: "Let people feel the weight of who you are, and let them deal with it." I tend toward sparing people the madness that is me. I should give them more credit and the privilege of knowing the weight of me. I'm still baking this too...

And just because I'm sure there is SOMEONE out there that I haven't shown these to yet, this is my army of Monkey cupcakes that I made for a friends baby shower. She went and messed up the shower by having the baby three weeks early on that day...but i guess we will forgive her.

(My favorite are the bottom three See No Evil...Hear No Evil....Speak No Evil.) And she said I wasn't domestic...

By far the best idea to rattle in my melon lately is one that is coming at me from a few different sources, but one recently this morning. The mental ascent to Christianity is not enough. Knowledge about Jesus is no more a relationship with him than, say, stalking some love interest...even the most diligent stalkers are still on the other side of the glass. Coming in thru the door, requires courage and less of a brain that you would think. Good news for the masses of un-intellectuals. Good news indeed.

Stolen Posts

2009-05-20T10:54:00.003-05:00

The hamburger bell story: http://web.me.com/stacying/StacyIngram/Blog/Entries/2009/5/3_Hamburger_Bell.html

The randomly seeing Kara at BW3's story: http://blacksheeped.com/2009/05/19/visit-2/

Two 'hook blades' and a bummer.

2009-05-17T17:18:00.005-05:00

Today I pity those who wont be born until tomorrow and those who died yesterday.

It was the most Beautiful of days. I let Fred and Marsha serenade me with "O' Happy Day' on my car CD player. I started running around doing errands and then decided against wasting this blue crispy sunny day inside my car.

I put my my legs in cutoff jeans, my hands in some dirt, and pulled weeds. Then I put my back in a hammock, and my nose in a book. I hosed some windows off, and borrowed the neighbors weed whacker instead of fixing my own (it's what neighbors do, right?) I broke theirs more and returned it. That IS what neighbors do. It was a good day.

Friday night was much different weather-wise, yet it still left me with such an impression. Maybe it was the great dinner company and my family's laughter. Maybe it was the sigh at the end of a long week, but I suspect it was something more.

I drove home from dinner through a field, just past nighfall, where the roads have no lines and no shoulders. The lighting flashed silently in the distance on either side of me. Thunder rolled in many seconds later. The fields were waving and dancing in renowned anticipation. But I don't believe a drop of rain fell. The whole air was filled with electricity as I slipped the window down and breathed deeply. The sweet smell of rain and the assault on my other senses made me giddy. Something about the dark burgundy brown color of the sky and the sweetness made me think of Dr. Pepper. The "random" cd I just burned from my music library clicked to my favorite classical music song (Sursum Corda by Elgar) I turned it up. I was at the symphony and before I knew it, my eyes filled up with girly tears and I'm singing to a song with no words on streets with no names. Funny how the song had no words, yet I knew how to sing it, and the strees had no names and I knew exactly where to go. Sometimes it's like this.

Sometimes people set off fireworks outside my bedroom window at 1:00am on a Tuesday. Sometimes it's like that.

Round One

2009-05-13T21:49:00.008-05:00

Last Friday something they are classifying as a 'derecho' ripped through my hometown. My parents are fine and infact my dad's insurance office with the State Farm catastrophe team is shown below. Everyone is a little nervous about what is about to come through tonight.

Sub-Waaaaaaah.

FW: Lost Costume

2009-05-11T22:31:00.002-05:00

Lindsey,

I need your help.

I have a LOST finale part to go to on Friday night back in Champaign, but… I need a good creative costume idea. Last year I went as Juliette (see attached)…..but this year has to top that.

Any ideas??

--Stacy :)

From: Lindsey Merrill
Sent: Monday, May 11, 2009 10:26 PM
To: Stacy Ingram
Subject: RE: Lost Costume

When I saw this subject line, I thought it was a search for a missing costume.

You could go as any of the below (stream of conscious brainstorms by yours truly)

The Hot Pocket.

Someone with a lei.

If you had a cool white wig you could be Eloise, you could carry a metronome and a rifle.

Has anyone tried being the smoke monster?

Miles (you have to carry a baby that is also named Miles).

Young Ben, wearing John Lennon glasses and carrying sandwiches.

(Hmm I'm noticing a lack of good funny female characters).

Charlotte with a fake bloody nose. Red wig, awful accent. (ooh I like this).

You could go as a half-Kate, half-Juliette like those half-man half-woman people in Vegas… on your Juliette side of your face you would have to wear half a set of wax lips that don't move when you talk. In fact, I think the whole Juliette side of your face would have to be a mask. The kate side, of course, has freckles.

A hydrogen bomb.

You could also go as the two Sayids, the half a straight-haired version, half-geri-curl version. Ew. Don't do that. Unless you happen to have a habitat for humanity yellow shirt lying around.

Faraday's bedridden girlfriend.

And of course I'm going to blog this exchange.

Linz

Convo with Mom.

2009-05-08T15:19:00.001-05:00

My parents just went thru a tornado down in Fredericktown. Before I call out the humor, I must say that they are totally fine.

Some really high winds knocked over a ton of trees in my parent's densely wooded sub-division. Trees are crisscrossing the roads so that people (my dad included cannot get to their homes). Dad parks his truck as far in as he can get and proceeds to hike to the house. It took him 30 minutes to hike this distance. The combo of wind and trees falling made it a little dicey.

I called my mom and got the scoop. I would be a little bit excited to see how i would fare without certain creature comforts. She was not as excited about two weeks without electricity and hunting rabbit.

"Lindsey, we can't hunt rabbits... we have no OVEN and no FREEZER!"

Oh. Ok.

"Well, I knew the electricity was supposed to go out so I filled the bathtub up with water so we would have water to flush the toilets, but I forgot to fill yours and Dusty's up too..

"Gosh Mom, there is no room for mistakes like that. There is probably NO where to go to the bathroom outside, what with all the trees gone and stuff!"

"I also took a shower this morning since I knew I may not get to take one in a long time, but I am ALREADY sweaty!"

"Hmmm"

"All we have is two bottles of water and some green tea, and no food. We just have the water in the bathtubs and the gas in the car to charge the phones by!"

"Mom I will bring you some food."

"I don't think you can get in, I think the cars on the highway (into the subdivision) are backed up.. heck all the way to Farmington..(18 miles)."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't. Well the girls in the office in town have been telling us things. They are calling in the National Guard."

"Do you want to come stay with me?"

"I don't know yet, give us a day to figure things out. Some Mothers day for ME!"

"Hah, oh by the way.. the present I bought you on Amazon didn't come in on time. I gave the wrong credit card number."

"Oh."

"Sorry to add insult to injury. I even had it express shipped and it just never came".

"Don't worry about it, I haven't gotten my mom anything either. It's yet to be determined."

"I don't know what that means."

"I don't want to waste anymore battery"

"Ok Mom, let me know if you need anything."

Check out my Brother!!

2009-04-29T15:09:00.002-05:00

http://www.adamsgolf.com/tour/lda.php#

(Go to the left and click Dustin Merrill... he's not Rock Hicks. However, Rock Hicks, in person...totally looks like Taylor Hicks, the american idol lounge singer guy from a few seasons ago. Fun fact for ya.)

test.

2009-04-29T01:17:00.010-05:00

Love

2009-04-28T23:12:00.001-05:00

She had a horrible car accident and broke both of her arms. He took care of her. He combed her hair. He flossed her teeth.

His wife was sentenced to life in prison after killing a young boy due to her personality disorder. He drove two hours two ways everyday until she died to see her.

She had her whole enitre arm and side eaten by flesh eating bacteria. He stayed.

She is getting the lawn seats for him. She hasn't heard of the band.

He made her patio furniture, by hand.

He has cancer. He still praises God, in every way, shape and form. They love intentionally, and more unselfishly that I have ever seen.

He married a prostitute because he loved her. She left him again and again. He still loves her, still chased her to the Valley of Trouble and there it becomes the Door of Hope.

He took away the idols. He pulled back the curtain to show that there are only illusions. He graciously smashed idols that rob us. He woos us back from desolate places.

I am just beginning to understand. I have known. But now I see.

He did the dishes last night. They were all mine.

The Starlings

2009-04-27T22:08:00.001-05:00

This past weekend the volleyball team I have been helping out with had their first actual game! I think it was actually the first game-like situation, as well. (See pics below).

Which meant the goals that Brielle and I had for them were as follows:

1. Have at least six girls show up.

2. Do not get Bageled.

3. Do not require police involvement for diciplinary issues.

The Starlings are nation wide club team for girls of all socioeconomic backgrounds. In our case that means that we practice at the middle school that the girls attend right after their school gets out because they have no way to get to practice otherwise. Some of our girls parents are pretty unreliable and a few others have parents in prison. We spend much more time at practice herding cats than teaching volleyball.

But I am absolutely crazy about them.

Did they meet our goals?

1. We had seven girls the first day, six on the second. CHECK!

2. We did NOT get Bageled. In face one game the second day we scored 16 points!! UNREAL.

3. We did not have to call the police.

So anything after that was total bonus. Some of the highlights:

1. Watching them light up when we handed out the uniforms and jackets.

2. Watching them change from watching the other teams with fear to intently trying to learn from them.

3. Other parents offering to buy one of our players a pair of tennis shoes. (I told them not to worry, she had shoes, she just FORGOT them )

4. Other people in the gym, other teams started cheering for us, encouraging us.

5. Every coach we played with asked us about our team and their story.

6. The second day EVERY girl showed up on time, ready to go. Wearing actual tennis shoes.

7. Did I mention SIXTEEN points?

8. The girls wanted to practice after the game was over. So we did.

9. In our pre-game warm up they all started spiking the balls... like really well!

10. The gracious officials who helped our girls learn how to referee and line judge.

11. The girls getting together to make up the COOLEST Starlings cheer. Of course it was the coolest. "S-T-A-R-L-I-N-G-S We are the Starlings and we are the Best" Complete with cool little dance moves.

12. The put three hits on the ball once! Amazing feat.

13. All the HILARIOUS stuff they said. "Oh my Goodness! The Mac Donalds play place is my favorite place on earth.. Y'all don't even understand!"

14. Marshay, who for the first four practices wouldn't take off her hoodie, kept it zipped up to the top, got three serves in a row in bounds and was the captain first.

15. And perhaps the most treasured bonus... The feeling that I felt for these girls, who are so clearly, outwardly, wordly, behind all the other teams in so many ways. The feeling that reminded me of how God must see people. He must see the whole story all the time, not just what shows up at gametime. He sees the back story, the heart, the character of people when the world just sees screw-ups and faults. He sees the situation they came from, the tools they were given and the courage that it takes to just show up. Brielle said she had more fun coaching this team than any other first ranked team she has ever coached. They are difficult, frustrating, defiant, mouthy, infuriating, and currently can't play volleyball to save their lives, and I am crazy about them.

JOY

2009-04-27T08:38:00.004-05:00

Oh Tina, How I Heart Thee.

2009-04-23T21:35:00.003-05:00

A couple of stand-alone gems from 30 Rock, which, is just my fave:

"That hurts more than my foot botox." Jenna.

Liz: "Tracy did you even go home last night? And where is your shirt?"
Tracy: "1. No 2. At Large"

"Liz you are the closest thing to a man in this building."

Liz: "Jack, what are you doing here? I was sleeping!"
Jack: "I just heard you singing 'night cheese' "

"I am sorry to have to tell you such a grim story wearing such a silly T-shirt" Salma Hayak. (The shirt said "What the Frak?")

"Liz Lemon, isn't there a slanket somewhere you should be hiding your farts under?" Salma Hayak.

As natural as April showers...

2009-04-22T16:40:00.005-05:00

The Fall Cosbinox* is almost over. As evidenced by tulips in all their glory and big-diamond pattern sweaters being packed away... Men in the office are starting to switch to the brightly colored Hawaiian-esque Weird Al Yankovic shirts.

That's right folks. It's almost time for the Spring Yank-quinox*. Get excited, people.

(* I have been since corrected by singram, a.k.a still the funniest person ever, that humor rights, if any are warranted, to both terms do, in fact, go to me.)

Because it deserves to be captured:

2009-04-21T17:50:00.002-05:00

I was recently at a chinese buffet with friends and the small of stature proprietor was at the door upon my exit.

He said something to this effect:
"Oh... HeLOOO tall lady! I take you apple picking with me. I can never get to the apples at the top! Ah.. but we go pick strawberries and YOU hold the bucket!"

"I ask God why he make me so small. I can never get to the apples I want at the top of the tree!"

It was awesome.

STL Tourism

2009-04-15T09:42:00.002-05:00

Hooray for Marc's first baseball "match".

From Blue Like Jazz

2009-04-14T13:44:00.001-05:00

"What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? What great force, that though I went falsely, went kicking, went disguising myself to earn your love, also disguised to earn your keeping, your resting, your staying, your will fleshed into mine, rasped by a slowly revealed truth, the barter of my soul, the soul that I fear, the soul that I loathe, the soul that: if you will love, I will love. I will redeem you, if you will redeem me? Is this our purpose, you and I together to pacify each other, to lead each other toward the lie that we are good, that we are noble, that we need not redemption, save the one that you and I invented of our own clay?

I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared of me.

I went looking, I wrote out a list, I drew and image, I bled a poem for you. You were pretty, and my friends believed that I was worthy of you. You were clever, but I was smarter, perhaps the only one smarter, the only one able to lead you. You see, love, I did not love you, I loved me. And you were only a tool that I used to fix myself, to fool myself, to redeem myself. And though I have taught you to lay your lily hand in mine, I walk alone, for I cannot talk to you, lest you talk it back to me, lest I believe that I am not worthy, not deserving, not redeemed.

I want desperately for you to be my friend. But you are not my friend; you have slid up warmly to the man I wanted to be, the man I pretended to be, and I was your Jesus and, you were mine. Should I show you who I am, we may crumble. I am not scared of you, my love, I am scared you me.

I want to be known and loved anyway. Can you do this? I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely, like me. My love, do I know you? What is this great gravity that pulls us so painfully toward each other? Why do we not connect? Will we be forever fleshing this out? And how will we with words, narrow words, come into the knowing of each other? Is this God's way of meriting grace, of teach us of the labyrinth of His love for us, teaching us, in degrees, that which he is sacrificing to join ourselves to Him? Or better yet, has He formed our being fractional so that we might conclude one great hope, plodding and sighing and breathing into one another in such a great push that we might break through into the known and being loved, only to cave into a greater perdition and fall down at His throne still begging for our acceptance? Begging for our completion?

We were fools to believe that we would redeem each other.

Were I some sleeping Adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to counsel your timid steps, your bewildered eye, you heart so slow to love, so careful to love, so sheepish that I stepped up my aim and became a man. Is this what God intended? That though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in so doing revealing Him.

Will we be in ashes before we are one?

What great gravity is this that drew my heart toward yours? What great force collapsed my orbit, my lonesome state? What is this that wants in me the want in you? Don't we go at each other with yielded eyes, with cumbered hands and feet, with clunky tongues? This deed is unattainable! We cannot know each other!

I am quitting this thing, but not what you think. I am not going away.

I will give you this, my love, and I will not bargain or barter any longer. I will love you, as sure as He has loved me. I will discover what I can discover and though you remain a mystery, save God's own knowledge, what I disclose of you I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart, the very chamber where God has stowed Himself in me. And I will do this to my death, and to death it may bring me.

I will love you like God, because of God, mighted by the power of God. I will stop expecting your love, demanding your love, trading for your love, gaming for your love. I will simply love. I am giving myself to you , and tomorrow I will do it again. I suppose the clock itself will wear thin its time before I am ended at this altar of dying and dying again.

God risked Himself on me. I will risk myself on you. And together, we will learn to love, and perhaps then and only then understand this gravity that drew Him, unto us.

Sigh.

2009-04-08T09:29:00.001-05:00

Dear people who make Lincolns,

In the future, please take time to consider me, the scatterbrained mad-scientist when deciding on which side to put the gas tank. I waste much precious fuel re-orienting my vehicle to the pump. Yes I KNOW there is a little arrow that tells me which side the gas tank is on, but old Pontiac habits die hard.

Furthermore, if you DO decide make the poor decision to put the gas tank on the other side of the driver side of the car, please re-think the reasoning behind placing the button that actually OPENS the gas door ALL THE WAY back near the steering wheel.

Gas station attendants everywhere are wondering why the six-foot blonde lady is running laps around her car in the rain and cursing.

I'm tired.

Thanks,

LEM

Pics of Easter.

2009-04-06T09:43:00.004-05:00

Holi

2009-03-11T16:04:00.002-05:00

Indian celebration I have never, ever heard of. "Holi" Where friends throw colored powders on friends. Somehow things get wet, and the colors mix into rainbow gravy, because people roll around in the mud before getting sprayed down with a fire hose...I'm fuzzy on the details. But how amazing and beautiful is this?

I LOVE it.

Two co-workers in the bottom right, George and Libby with our Six stained clients!

March Dad-ness

2009-03-09T20:30:00.006-05:00

My dear ol Dad's birthday is today. For about four years I was the worst daughter about birthdays for him considering our basketall tourney runs were always smack in the middle of March. Which I'm sure there was never a better birthday present than getting to yell at the occassional referee in the middle of March Madness, but still I am remiss on celebrating my pop.

Larry Bruce is the most handsome 54 year-old I know. Not just because he's my dad, but because it's true. My mom says he reminds her of Harrison Ford. He's pretty much the best dad ever. He recently trapped a GIANT groundhog out of my backyard. So big and hissing and nasty that he had to pick up the cage with a broom handle and walk it out to the truck. He set it free in the grassy woodlands of Bonne Terre. With a floppy thud, it rolled out of the cage and scampered to freedom.

My dad taught me so much, when I let him. How to attempt left-handed hook shots more often than really necessary. How to bait my hook. How to play golf, how to drive, how to mow the yard... that last one didn't go so well. He would always let out an impressed chortle when I would really whack a drive on the golf course. How to dance. He would say he taught me how to dance because I just looked at him and did the exact opposite. He is a master griller, in the true Dad fashion. He knows how to "rig" anything. He once fashioned a uni-suspender out of the strap of his man-purse when his belt broke in Switzerland. And if you ask my friends, he is the best insurance man they have ever had. He gets letters in local papers for the nice stuff he does for his customers that he really doesn't have to do and really doesn't talk about it much. He is a servant. He also loves my mom really well. They are stupidly happy.

He taught me to be critical to a fault, and now I get paid to do just that. He taught me to help people who need help and he broke many destructive cycles by himself, with no help. He is Bootstrap Bill.

He climbed into my bed once when I had lost a big basketball game as a freshmen in high school and for a big, man's man dad, he said all the right things to his hormonal teenage daughter lying prone on the bed, sobbing in the dark, and she never forgot it. I don't say it well or often, but thanks, Daddy. I know who I am, because you told me, sometimes with words, mostly without...everyday.

Love You. Happy Birthday!

Nups and Naps.

2009-03-08T21:15:00.002-05:00

Wish I had a camera. Or a phone with a camera that could hold a charge. This weekend two of my very favorites tied the knot. Casey and Angela are now holy and matrimonious as well.

It was a great wedding and many people cried, including myself. They did steal my favorite song perhaps of all time for their first dance, which is "Falling Slowly" by the couple from Once. Best song ever. Never heard it for a wedding first dance, but well played you two, well played.

Also well played was the reception table decor. Angela, the brilliant connoisseur of English Literature that she is, created a table that was SO them! She named the tables after their favorite books, but little quotes from each book on them. (Our table was "Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius") She made her own "Mad(ly in Love) Libs" and the little wedding favors were a teachers pencil and a carpenters pencil with the inscriptions "Building our Lives" and "Writing our Story". So very original.

Love you guys and am blessed to have been a part of your special day. Even though I tried to cut in on your "swing dancing song" you were gracious and let me cut in later :)

Lovely as well to meet the wonderful Arnold family and hear their story.
Nate, you are a bum. You missed a helluva time.

Ashley, Liz and I were more than conquerors of the electric slide. We had good practice the Thursday before at the Wild Country place for the bachelorette party. When you know the dance already... the song seems sooo much longer than when you are trying to learn a dance while being taped on CMT.

I am trying to be less, well..."me". Read the directions to weddings before you go. Don't rely on your iPhone that wont hold a charge. Don't leave your keys hanging in the front door. Don't be so full of yourself. Don't sleep on Sunday from 12-4 and then from 5:30 to 9 and then for the whole entire night. (I think it's a medication I am on that has turned me into a zombie). Yes mister Lumberjack, that is a dollar I owe you.

I am weary. I continue to travel and be occupied a bit. But it seems the thing to do. How could I pass up ski-trips? How can I not go see Sara? How THRILLED am I that Marc is visiting soon? How important is it that I go to New York to peddle the business? How important is the women's retreat for the health of our weary church? How precious are the little ones I am trying to carve out time to teach the game I love? How important is being in shape?

How can a laundry pinata have exploded in my room? Like weeks ago? Still with the cotton/rayon shrapnel, I live. It's the least important, I'm certain.

FYI

2009-03-06T10:15:00.002-06:00

Hey guys. It's "Hall and Oates"...

NOT "Haulin' Oats"...

Glad I got that cleared up.

Truths.

2009-02-27T12:21:00.001-06:00

Two monologues do not make a dialogue.

-Jeff Daly

As the light changed from red to green to yellow and back to red again, I sat there thinking about life. Was it nothing more than a bunch of honking and yelling? Sometimes it seemed that way.

-Jack Handey

Whenever someone says "I can't," it makes me wish he'd get stung to death by about 10,000 bees. When he says "I'll try," 5,000 bees. "I can"= just one bee.

~Jack Handey.

Tahoe!

2009-02-23T23:17:00.005-06:00

A ton of snow in Lake Tahoe this weekend. Check out this bank! That was a smallish one as well... A pool at the TOP of the mountain. Squaw was the site of the 1960-something Olympics. They have to plow around the pool to use it! Whoa. Emerald Bay in Lake Tahoe. I'm not sure what I am doing.

Shannon getting ready to rock the slopes.

Thanks Shannon for inviting me on your free weekend in Tahoe (Free airfare, room, and SPA treatments!)

Thanks Vegas for giving me 250 bucks when I put those three bucks in the slot machine. (Free skis and lift tickets!)

Thanks Lord, for the amazing weather and company for the weekend!

Fwd: Best Quote of the Weekend?

2009-02-23T18:39:00.001-06:00

"There are laws in California that say chicken sold in the supermarkets must be given a certain time outside of their pens to "play" which makes them eight bucks a pound. So I drive to Reno and shop and then lie my face off at the border patrol."

~Cooper, the friendly Shuttle driver/Ski-bum.

How My HG Loves Me.

2009-02-17T22:19:00.004-06:00

For the longest time I have gone without the counting of the blessings. Why is that? I don't know.

Since the Valentines Day tulips are still alive, I am going to take a minute to be supremely mushy and thankful for my community. I had house group that tonight I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with thankfulness for. (I also can't seem to help ending sentences with prepositions.) These people I often take for granted, but I would not trade them for anything, and I hope they know it.

The Scene. I am driving. I have dry, itchy, watery, eyes, severely chapped lips and a nasty seven-day cough, and I am not sure why I can't find this house on Swon avenue. I have been to this house twice before and I still do not know how to get there. I am debating not going because I am so very feeling sorry for myself and like a giant wet blanket. I have millions of things I should be doing and I just learn that my favorite great-aunt just broke her hip (playing hide and seek with her grandson, hallelujah!? What a life-filled lady.) I am feeling like I usually talk too much at group and should just sit there all pouty and non-contributory to the discussion of Daniel at hand. We sometimes go on tangents and I can often be the ring-leader of tangents. Just sit there and absorb, Lindsey...geez.

As I circle around Webster University, cursing my poor sense of the little details, I swallow my pride and call "Annie!" on her cell. I lament, "Ok. I can't seem to find this place EVER!" She laughs her beautiful 'Anne' laugh and hands the phone to Adonna to guide me. I always feel ashamed when I am late. I would have left work earlier, but the boss caught me, yadda yadda. So I spin the wheel and head the correct direction and Adonna tells me it's no big deal as I apologize probably a little too profusely. I feel a tad better.

I pull up to the house and Hank the handkerchief-sporting basset hound greets me with his droopy eyes and funny little crooked leg. I am not the last one there (true sigh of relief). The table is full of people I am genuinely glad to see and Adonna asks me if I want food. HELLO? Of course I do. She makes me a cheeseburger with caramelized onions and gave me some TOTS to go with it! Holy Mama, it was yum. Wayne pushes me the ketchup bottle and I polish it all off with a 'Koka Kora'. Markus tells me other unfortunate broken hip stories and I laugh. He laughs too, somehow he always 'gets me' and I love that. We swap more stories as Deana and Ashley arrive and they are much rested and alive since spirit week is over and Ashley's comedic timing makes me laugh so hard. Deana pats me on the shoulder, happy to see me.

Jael and George are here by now and we are complete. Jael is wearing her hair curly and Geo is tired from work. He misses his fam, as he has recently made the sacrifice from freelance-work-from-home-guy to full-time-life-sucking-office-employment and is still adjusting. Well that is putting it mildly, he misses being with his wife and his "itty bitties" (their kids, Zane, 6, and Grier, 3.) I would be remiss if I didn't stop here and mention that Jael and Geo were my Valentines this year. On the dreaded day for the singleton, they invited me into their home to watch the kids while they had some time out of the house. They came back and made me a delicious dinner. It was divine.

I would be further remiss if I didn't also mention that Anne and Mark had a very "Willie!" Valentines Day as well. They went to White Castle, where apparently they put table cloths on the tables, hire wait staff, take reservations only, asking the random passers-by to get their orders to go.

Anywho. Back to HG....

We hear about cat adoptions and Ashley's dog's love for my brother. Deana flops in a chair and tries to finish up some grading so her students don't have to ask her again if their tests are done. Adonna brings out a gigantic platter of chocolate cake and tells tales of a funeral for Wayne's aunt from the previous weekend. Flower arrangements from the funeral and valentines day still perfume the room. Yes, I am happier to be here.

Anne has worked hard to put together our study for tonight and it's about Daniel just faithfully doing his thing and God constantly showing himself faithful in amazing ways. I still marvel at the Bible's "echos". Jael gave us that beautiful word "echos" to describe how the themes resound and resound and resound. How themes repeat and how symbols show up again and again from the same Source.

This time the light was turned on for me about the story Abraham and Isaac, how confused and angry I get at God when he asks Abraham to sacrifice his own son, this particular story has never made any sense to me. Then Anne, in a beautiful tangent, just casually compares that scene to God himself sacrificing his very own Son, Jesus, as, ahem, The Point. Aha moment. I'm ecstatic to be here, now. The bible is so beautiful and I love studying it. I truly do.

Fast forward to us as we came to a passage of scripture that incited the touchy subject of "little stuff we do wrong" Instead of making self-righteous statements or making people feel guilty or commanding that everyone change right then and there, and pay for cable and stop speeding, etc., and signing a pact or something. We just spoke honestly about the heart issues and let the words hang like the cutting and healing sword of truth in the air, free to be grasped by anyone, but forced on no one.

I laughed so much, learned even more about this Book that I love to ignore, was loved on, and somehow maybe my presence actually wasn't just that of a vacuum. I am so lucky to have this time and this group. I do love you all and you all love me well, separately for sure, but all together it's so much more.

Tonight I am still tired, itchy-eyed, coughing and chapped, but now I am full.

HOF induction ceremony

2009-02-09T12:44:00.003-06:00

Sara, Alia, Tasha, Me and Coach at Tasha's Hall Of Fame induction Breakfast. Tasha, true to usual form, was amazing, her speech was great, and the Bears beat NYU that night. All is good with the world.

Things that go Bump in the Night.

2009-02-04T08:38:00.000-06:00

Last night I had the joy of playing volleyball with some kids from UCity high school. One of their teachers is on my club volleyball team, so she invited all of us to play at their open gym with the kids. After the kids were dismissed we stayed to play a little more with just our team to sharpen our skillz, and two of the kids who had already graduated stayed and evened up our teams.

As I was leaving the gym, it was freezing cold and really dark so I was quickly shuffling through the parking lot and I tripped on a speed bump. Trying to save face, I yelled back at the two kids who just watched me almost bite it "hey guys, apparently there is a speed bump here!" The boy replied… "Yeah… you was just walkin' too fast."

Angels

2009-01-28T15:31:00.001-06:00

As I sadly drag myself out of the warmth and peace of my bed, little flashes of light spew out of my blanket. I can see the static electricity because it is still dark. My dry static hair reminds me of seaweed when I bring a brush to it. All the little follicles want to grab on to my brush but not to each other after it's pulled through. The bathroom floor is cold and clammy. The skillet on the stove was warm and crackly. (How about that? I cooked).

Dusting off my car this morning was fluffy and wonderful. I actually take too long to do it, because I am mostly playing. Crisp, red-faced memories of childhood flood me. Huddling around the radio for school closing information. The dryer crammed with soggy mittens. Finding the dog in a snow bank. Remembering my dad telling me that this kind of snow is no good for snowmen.

I warmed up a bit with a white-knuckled tip-toed rear-wheeled drive into work. Warmed up a lot more after a quick workout at the gym. I wear my big warm black boots, and cranked the space heater under my desk. I watched the trees outside my window with their white burdens blowing off of them. Their post-war frozen arms and legs are victoriously strewn about the street. I don't always drink cocoa, but I did today.

I don't wanna miss it, this life.

Ate some crow over the weekend and it didn't taste too bad. New Lindsey IS a stud, but not so much at Volleyball anymore, and maybe not as much at speaking in front of peeps as she would hope. But it's no big deal.

And less vaguely… I read a book this past weekend that agreed with my take on Balance. That it's a dumb Christian-ese word that is nowhere to be seen in the Bible. Paul was not a 'Balanced' guy. He didn't divide his life into a prioritized pie-chart that said: 25% in-chains gospel preaching. 25% receiving beatings, 25% feeding the poor, ….etc. he was at the beck and call of Jesus. He just was. He was salt when he was asked to be -- mundane, common, not the main course, sparse. He was light when he was asked to be. Visible, profound, definitive, big, pushing dark away and drawing life to it. It was nice to hear someone else write it. That I'm not nuts for thinking Balance is a silly thing. That sometimes when I work late and get no sleep, and sometimes I sleep late and miss work. It's, of course not quite that simplistic, but the idea is one that I have been trying to defeat. That somehow, if you hold your body just right, if you constrain just right, you somehow won't fall off this tightrope and crash into the leering jeering onlookers below.

This weekend I am off to kick start the ski season. Not to mention a slew of short trips to mop up the rest of my frequent flyer miles. It will pale in comparison to last year, but only if I let it. I'm pretty sure mountains are all still awesome. I'm pretty sure my feet will hurt the same whether I've been skiing the Alps or the Rockies…and I'm pretty sure I'll laugh just as hard since Tami and company will be there to re-hash last year's ski-stories. I'm pretty sure that I WON'T be eating Diet Coke and Cookies for breakfast.

I pray you are warm. Or thinking warm thoughts.

(How about that? I pray. )

Overheard...

2009-01-23T18:35:00.001-06:00

Libby just got trained to use the new emergency defibrulator paddles in our office building.

Dave, my favorite crazy co-worker who used to play hockey for the Pittsburg Penguins after getting his degree from MIT, asks her a la Dennis Hopper in Speed:

"Libby, say, for example, I am sitting across from you and I just read that Obama is promising a tax-cut to all the white-honkey's and then I have a heart attack right in front of you, and THEN Jeff Biskup (our company's owner) walks by at the same time and HE has a heart attack; which one of us do you save? What do you do? What do YOU do? Which one of us do you save?"

"Well, Dave, I guess whoever's chest I don't have to shave."

He's Ours Now.

2009-01-20T22:05:00.001-06:00

A link to Ms Beth Moore's blog with a wonderful and timely invitation to pray for our newly appointed leader. http://livingproofministries.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-president.html

Comforting to know that our leader is bathed in prayer today as he begins his battles.

His speech was pretty brilliant, and you know, in lieu of answers and anything that resembles an actual plan or a pat answer, this does serve up encouragement and a drive to unite that is inspirational. This was a very well written speech to encourage people, all people, to pull their own weight to make our nation great again.

I know that pretty words wont solve our problems, but lifting people to believe they can solve any problem, is as good a start as any, and may have more impact than any well polished stack of paper ever could.

"If you want to build a ship, don't drum up people to collect wood and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the endless immensity of the sea."

I am hopeful.
Well done Mister President.

2009-01-19T22:16:00.002-06:00

The above picture I think is funny.

Sparty was so proud that she drove the ball so close to mine. I was impressed as well. I can hit it pretty far for a girl and I killed that one. Sparty did too. We decided to pose.

This was back in August or something. The reason I haven't changed out my blog pic is because I LOST MY CAMERA.

The irony here, is that I lost it at a wedding because I was busy explaining how my key-finder worked. "You see here, everyone, this beeps when Jill laughs or when Heather laughs, or when Mariah Carey is on the radio, but never when I am actually whistling for my keys. Look at it! It's hilarious! I'm NEVER going to lose my keys AGAIN. " Yeah. Fist-pump.

Dork.

I'm overwhelmed with cyber words. I want to write more, but it assumes some bit of ego-tism that people care what you have to say.

I have stuff to say. It's only reorganizations of things I have said before....It's percolating.

Wow.

2009-01-05T22:29:00.001-06:00

Fontbonne men just played a game where they scored 145 points.

And LOST.

145-163. I think one team made 35 three pointers.

Do I hear a niner in there?

2008-12-31T14:36:00.001-06:00

2008, you were weird.

Definitely weird.

We had some good times, we lived in a few countries...hurled ourselves down some mountains with good friends, went to beach with others. Watched some Euro Cup soccer madness, and swam in a lake so clean and cold and blue that fish couldn't survive in it. Hiked in flower-dappled Italy, watched the sun set late in the day, and sat on rooftops with kindred spirits. We started biking. We ate dinner completely in the dark. We whitewater rafted in water that was a snow cap three hours before, we jumped off rocks, on trampolines, on trains, on buses, on planes. We laughed and we danced as long as our left knee would let us. We ate a lot of pizza. We drank a lot of wine. We texted, emailed, facebooked and even wrote a post card or two. We watched the entire four-season collection of LOST. We almost started to like coke lite with no ice cubes. We came home for good and came crashing down. We voted, for what we weren't sure. We finished the basement and watched it flood again. We stopped paying for cable. We realized for the first time that marriage just may not be in the cards...and the sun came up anyway. We wore a Christmas tree costume more times than we care to admit. We got a new pastor and man, can he sing! Got a new washer that is going to help save the planet that plays a weird tune when it's finished (washing..not saving the planet). We started coaching volleyball in the city and love every second of it. We drank martinis at the zoo and listened to adventures from China, India, Ireland and Belgium.

Got our hearts healed and then re-broken, and then healed again. Got our ass kicked a couple distinct times and it was good. Reconciliation? I'm more beautiful with my scars and my hobbit feet. I realized life is not a list of stuff, or a series of compartments and it is good, even when it's bad.

Many more people got married, many more had and even lost babies and I have cried and rejoiced with you all, even if only in cyberspace (lame). Friends got shot. Friends survived. Friends are surviving. Friends on facebook reached over the 300+ mark, while the friends I actually spend time with dwindled to about four plus a brother who continues to be kick ass.

Oh-Nine, what will you bring with you, besides my much anticipated Three-Oh?

I almost forgot....I have dishes that match now. Bring seven people and come over for soup. We will eat from matching bowls...in Oh Nine.

Goodbye Oh Ate.

Second Crisis Mercifully Averted...

2008-12-17T00:14:00.002-06:00

The night before last I was picking up my bike from my friendly-neighborhood bike-shop-owner-guy, Dan. He lives pretty close to me and graciously brings my bike to and from his shop so I don't have to drive out there all the time. It was in for minor adjustments and a much needed extra tube and pump. I told him I would finally come and get it from him Monday night. He was going to be away at bible study so I was going to pick it up off the back porch, and drop a check in the mail.

Little did I know I would be doing this mission on the coldest night of the year thus far. It was so cold that I wanted to keep the car running and warm while I was jockeying the bike around. I happened to be listening to a Christian radio program that I landed on and I had it blaring throughout this whole scene. It was about real community and how much it sucks, even though it rocks, and I thought AMEN. Anyway... I didn't have my bike rack, so I was jamming and shoving and cursing the bike into the trunk. A bike is awkward anyway, let alone when your fingers are freezing and there are other bulky things in your car to jockey around. In the middle of the jockey, I decided to close the door to conserve warmth. I could still hear the radio through the trunk, it was pretty loud so I was semi-distracted. I jammed my bike in the trunk in one piece, with the trunk open, since I couldn't get the wheel off. (I have never taken the wheel off before, cold, weak fingers, blah blah blah). I backed gingerly out of the driveway and started to pull down the street as the guy on the radio was talking about Republicans loving Democrats or something.

Whoops. I forgot to pay Dan. Back up down the street...(African tribes claiming to be Christians killing each other?)... I hit something, I think it's curb. I see a neighbor man salting his drive eye me curiously. I decide to stop where I was instead of backing up any further with my trunk blocking my view for it had now swung wide open). I hop out of the car, leave it running and warm, and I close the door. I walk farther than I want to Dan's mailbox and drop the check in. I shivered thinking of the last time I was in Dan's neighborhood. There was a suspected homicide at the Rug World some 100 yards down the street at the exact same time I was poking around his yard in the dark dropping off my bike. I was glad for the glowy twinkle of the Christmas lights and the seeming non-homicidal atmosphere.

I arrive thankfully back at my running car... LOCKED?! What? I HATE this car. I just did this SAME routine not two minutes earlier and my door was not locked when I came back to it. Maybe because I shifted gears? Doesn't matter now. I have almost no gas and my phone, of course, is safely in my purse locked inside. Perfect. Ok so my trunk is still open. Maybe I can kick the back seat down and get in that way. I yank the bike back out of the trunk and stand it up in the street behind the car and I climb in the trunk. I think I was saying things out loud like "NO NO NO" and I may have been trying to kick my seat alternately beating it with the extra long ice scraper squeegee combo that I had back there. I then had a vision of me being slammed into the trunk, by some sick Rug-World-Murderer passer-by, who would leave me to die of some sort of confined-trunk-space-poisoning and ride off to freedom with my newly adjusted (two-wheeled) bike. I promptly climbed out and thought about my next move.

I didn't have much gas or many options. I went to the house where I had seen the salty neighbor man. I knocked on his door planning to call my brother first to see if he could find my spare, all the while praying my spare was not in my purse. A woman tentatively answered the door and I stepped into their cluttered home (here was someone who had a more cluttered place than ME). I dialed my brother who I realize now has a long distance number. Upon attempt number three i get through and ask him to find my key and come get me. He tells me he's frying a chicken breast and that I should call him back in ten minutes. I explain that I cannot "call him back" anymore and he cannot call me either and I tell him to just come and get me. Hopefully he can get back with the key and i can get to a gas station before I have another problem to solve in the freezing cold night. I hang up, not sure how to ask this woman if I can wait for him inside the house as she clearly seems put out that I am standing in her entryway, when MERCIFULLY, Dan comes home. I run out the door as he is walking toward the bike, as he explained later, he was on his way "bust someone up who was stealing Lindsey's bike". HA. I yell at him from across the street. "HEY I locked my keys in the car...it's running." and the first words he uttered were "I love you Lindsey Merrill". Perfect response to not make me cry. I laughed instead and gave him a hug.

Dan then climbs in the trunk, explaining that there usually is some sort of release mechanism inside the trunk in the case that someone would get closed in one. I explained my previous position in that trunk and say I already tried opening the back seat up. Before I could even have a random thought to insert here, he found the switch and was into the back seat!

JOY!

I dove inside the car to call my brother so that his chicken frying would not have to cease. Then, by the time I got off the phone with my bro, Dan had the front wheel off and the bike into the trunk for me. It still wouldn't close completely, but definitely better than last time.

OH So grateful was I.

God and Dan are GOOD.
Crisis, again, averted.

Crisis Mercifully Averted!

2008-12-12T10:57:00.000-06:00

Hard Drive... SAVED.

They tried one last glimmer of softward hope and figured out the issue.

MEMORIES RESTORED!

Now on my list is an EXTERNAL HARD DRIVE. So this does not occur again.

Let my near tragedy inspire you and yours to back up yo stuff this holiday season, and always.

Cheers!

Unspeakable sadness...

2008-12-10T15:23:00.001-06:00

I lost my hard drive.

Will all of my Pictures on it. ALL of them.

Yes I know. External hard drive... I KNOW.

Mourning. Just Mourning this loss.

The blanket finally got done!

2008-12-08T13:53:00.000-06:00

Here is a link to a picture of the little guy with it!

http://jodified.typepad.com/a_mom_and_her_camera/2008/12/sick-and-tired-of-being-sick-and-tired-.html

Sun

2008-11-28T12:42:00.001-06:00

Bright winter sun streams in thru the dirty office window that I sit behind. It feels warm and hopeful. It feels like its aging my skin. But I don’t mind. With age comes wisdom, and at least then I am not a pasty white engineer type. Thanksgiving was WONDERFUL. I have a great family, full of talented and resilient people. I have their DNA.

Little neon sticky notes pepper my desk and computer screen and I know I should stop typing and get to the equipment list that I need to finish (start?). But somehow this serene Friday after Thanksgiving is begging me to breathe and reflect and be all sappy. And to maybe go find a bagel in the kitchen.

Hope. I hope there is a blueberry one left. I hope I am productive today. I hope people realize that relationships are never over. Their roots linger long after we have tried to remove them. I used to think compartmentalization was necessary and just the way things were…but I am reminded that God only wiped the slate clean once. After that, he said no matter how grave it gets, I will chase you. I will woo you back to me. No matter where you go, what you do, if you are mine and intended for me, I will find you and keep you and redeem you. No matter how broken your bones are, my breath is sufficient to make them dance again.

When I was a kid I had really bad handwriting. I was ashamed of it because it was the only thing I couldn’t seem to get good grades in. It was the source of a dreaded reprimand from my teacher. My aunts and parents worked with me to correct it. I would start a paper or an essay or math homework and halfway through I would look at how messy it was and rip it out crumple it up and start over. My handwriting improved but my method did not. In math, I did so much of it in my head or in my very unorthodox code, which consisted of maybe writing down every third figure and surely not in neat straight lines. It made showing my work to teachers feel very much like lifting my dress over my head. I didn’t understand why they wanted to know how I got there? If the final answer was right…why did it matter how I got there? I never got there like they did anyway.

Into college and after the advent of word processing I would do much the same thing. I never wanted record of changes, or mistakes, so I would rarely track them. I would not keep first drafts. I couldn’t even seem to follow proper procedure in my chemistry lab books, no erasing, white-out or scratching through was allowed. You had to draw one single line through your error so that everyone could still see it. Then you had to initial it. As if to say, “I am LEM and this is the color of my underwear on 11/12/08.” Even as I saw the tracking of these errors as neon signs pointing to the chinks in my armor of perfection, the wise profs saw the value of this process. They (whoever they were) realized that the process of recording what was done, right down to the mistake, was important to the final product and for looking back over decision making processes. They also knew that if you go into battle with chink-y armor, that isn’t a good thing.

Now (that I am old, wise and sun-damaged) I keep everything. It’s taken me seven years of hard learning, but I keep all of my chicken scratches that I write on my engineering drawings in three large bank boxes under my desk. This means I have had to stop doodling and recording unhelpful meeting commentary..i.e. “Wow, Joe Schmuckatelli has excessive ear hair”. This also means I have to keep the boxes away from the space heater. I keep a ratty book of my process flow diagrams for work for the duration of the project now. It becomes so cool. With all of the different colors of pen, all the notes and data, the layers of thought and dog-eared pages. I refer back to it constantly, I teach others with it and it saves me so much time.

All this nerdy-ness is my way of illustrating that the process is important. With stuff, but even more with people. I used to be so much more endpoint oriented, final-polished-product oriented. I left out the value and the beauty of the process.

Perfect example would be my basketball career. Not many people can say that they have four national championship rings, I very much can. But I also know about my shortcomings and things I did during that time that more resembled sausage-making than living a dream-like journey. That process was overlooked and unimportant to me compared to getting the ring at the end of the year. The endpoint was praised, but it was so fleeting and empty, I wish I had done the journey part better, especially with respect to relationships with people and with respect to taking care of myself physically, and spiritually.

There were no blueberry bagels, but there is still Hope.

Conversation with Mom...

2008-11-16T20:54:00.002-06:00

Rick James, everybody!

Mom: "What are you up to this weekend?"

Murl: "Oh I'm going to this thing at the zoo called Zootini"

Mom: "Zuchini?"

Murl: "No. Zoo-tini"

Mom: "Oh."

Follow up conversation:

Mom: "So how was that thing you went to at the zoo? What was it... 'Zucchini'?"

Murl: "Uh. Still no. It's ... 'Zootini', like 'Martini'...take the word Martini and put a "Zoo" infront of it.

Mom: "Zoo-Martini"

Murl: "No, Mom...."

The Dirty Window

2008-11-05T13:33:00.001-06:00

I sit by a window now…so the goings on outside now permeate my bubble… yesterday there were a gaggle of Canada Geese tromping by... from the neck up they bobbed along, cheering me on. GO BACK TO WORK.

Today a woman glided by pushing a cart of sandwiches…like unwrapped ones...where is she going? What is the lunch occasion? Why wouldn’t you cover them knowing there are geese around?? GET BACK TO WORK.

Election thoughts by Beth.

2008-11-04T12:15:00.001-06:00

Emphasis Mine:

A few things I'm so thankful for on this election day, regardless of the outcome:

*We live in a democracy where we have the right to a vote and a voice. We have the God-given responsibility to use both wisely and in the way that best reflects what God conveys through Scripture.

*God "works out everything in conformity with the purpose of His will" and "according to the plan." Ephesians 1:11

*Not only does God work out everything in conformity with His will, He has promised to work out everything for the GOOD of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

*God sets up kings and deposes them and gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning. Daniel 2:21

*We, the beautifully diverse family of God, are never - not at any time - powerless. Nor are we ever victims of a system. Believing prayer takes us through doors we'll never be invited to enter and into judges chambers we'll never grace. Take a look back at Genesis 18 once again with astonishment over the dialogue between God and His servant and friend, Abraham. Rejoice that God is ever mindful of a faithful remnant. The Judge of the Earth will always do right.

*Even if persecution should await believers in Christ or harrowing circumstances hound us, God will use hardship to bring unity and purity to a people who need it desperately. The best of circumstances do not always produce the best in the Bride of Christ.

*The living God is firmly established upon His Throne and there at His holy feet we can always find grace and mercy in our time of need.

*No matter what happens today, we are GOD'S elect. He has elected us to show His heart and to walk in His ways in the culture that surrounds us. We are called to walk in the challenging balance of grace and truth.

May we be filled with Christ's Spirit today and our mouths given to praise and to believing, receiving prayer. God IS faithful and He has us firmly in His hand. We will not fear. We will not doubt. We will not hate.

"Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields him all day long, and the one the Lord loves rests between His shoulders." Deuteronomy 33:12

Like the blooming of flowers....

2008-10-30T16:24:00.002-05:00

I was reminded by Singram, that not ONLY is the Daylight savings day approaching, but ALSO during this period of time there is another fall event to be given due consideration. In our office, and I would dare to assume in other offices across this fine land of ours and across the world, the internal clocks of men, much like the migration pattern of birds, make the switch from polo’s or long sleeve button-up shirts to the full-on diamond pattern turquoise blue Cosby sweaters.

That’s right folks.. the “Fall Cosbinox” is quickly approaching.

It’s not on a calendar…it’s written only on the hearts of men.

(Credit for the term ‘Cosbinox’ goes solely to S. Ingram, THE funniest person ever).

Mesquite and Zion

2008-10-29T22:38:00.001-05:00